Safe Haven
by darylsdiva1
Summary: Carol Peletier meets a plumber named Daryl Dixon. AU, No walkers. Caryl.
1. Chapter 1

_**Just a little drabble as suggested by a USS Caryl prompt based on MMB's experience with a plumber named Darryl Dickson.**_

_**AU: No walkers; Carol Peletier meets a plumber named Daryl Dixon.**_

* * *

_**Safe Haven**_

"Mizz Peletier?"

"Yes?"

"Uh—you called our service number, Senoia Plumbing?—here's my ID." He said 'Senoia' like a native, "Se-noy" rather than pronouncing all the letters.

Looking through the peep hole in her apartment door Carol saw the name "Daryl Dixon" on the credit card sized name badge that the man was holding up.

"I'm on the phone with your office now—just a minute," Carol said, and turned back towards the living room, leaning back on the locked and chained door. "Yes, he's here. What's the badge number? Yes, he had the right name, but I need to know the number as well." she turned back to the door, again looking through the small round hole, but startled back when she saw a vividly blue eye staring back at her—he'd been trying to look in!

"Put your badge back up." she ordered and he stepped back with a sigh, raising the tag again. _4377—yes that was it, _Carol said to herself with a sigh. She had no reason to keep him waiting any longer, but she still felt some trepidation at opening the door for a man she'd never met. Ed had tried other such scams to find her in the last six months since her daughter's death. The last one had allowed him to find her at work two weeks ago and was the reason she was at home today instead of at her job. Reluctantly she unlocked the three chains and two deadbolts to allow the plumber entry.

Daryl waited until he heard the sound of the last deadbolt releasing and then knocked politely. The damn woman had serious trust issues, but he knew for anyone alone in today's world, letting someone into their home was a risk. He schooled himself to patience and picked up his tool box. The woman on the other side was a surprise in more ways than one. Petite, thin to the point of looking almost ill, she had short cropped dark brown hair peppered with gray, but an unlined face, making her true age hard to guess. That fact that she wore a bright white bandage over the bridge of her nose and sported two black and purpled half moons under the bluest eyes he'd ever seen just about broke his heart. As she crossed her arms in front of her he also saw the finger shaped bruises on her right forearm and the cast on her left wrist. Someone had hurt her, badly. Daryl scowled angrily, but he saw that she misunderstood and that his expression made her shrink back from him.

Daryl knew from experience that drawing attention to her injuries was the last thing she would want, so he schooled his face to a benign expression and asked her what the plumbing problem was.

"The bathtub won't drain...it's clogged...I tried Liquid Plumber, but it wouldn't go through or something."

"Still water in the tub?" he asked, all business. She nodded yes and led him down the hall to the bathroom. Daryl's left eye twitched as he noticed that although she was a bit too thin for his tastes, the woman did have a nicely rounded—

"Are you staring at my ass Mr. Dixon?" Carol asked archly as she met his startled eyes in the bathroom mirror. Daryl stammered an apology, but she surprised him by smiling.

"Been a long time since someone took the time to stare. Thanks." she said evenly and left him to his work. Daryl set down his tool box on the closed toilet and grinned.

* * *

_So the plumber was hot...and he was looking at her ass..._Carol mused, sitting in the kitchen sipping her third cup of coffee of the day. She really drank too much of the stuff, but seeing as how she hardly slept at night, she had to do something to stay awake during the day, and she loved coffee. It was 8:30 a.m. and the hot plumber—ok, she should _really stop_ calling him that, even in her head—_Daryl, Daryl Dixon, the hot plumber_... Daryl had been there for almost twenty minutes. She had no idea how long a repair like this would take, or even why the stupid tub wouldn't obey and empty like it was supposed to.

She'd only lived here two weeks, her tenth place in the last six months. She'd used up most of the money she'd squirreled away in the last 15 years of her marriage on non-refundable deposits and had been just barely scraping by with her pay at the real estate office in Woodbury, but once Ed had shown up and beat the shit out of her in front of the entire office, she'd been asked to "vacate her position." Fired for cause—causing a disruption of business—which had been exactly what her son of a bitch soon to be ex-husband had been trying to do, thinking she'd come slinking back to him.

The only good thing that had come out of the whole mess was that one of the other secretaries had called the police and Ed had been arrested for assault and battery. She was supposed to testify against him in three days, but had just heard he was out on bail, so she was understandably twitchy. Her ex-employers were also paying for her medical expenses, since the incident had occurred on their property, while she was still in their employ. The other office workers had even taken up a collection for her, which though it stung her pride to accept, was the difference between eating and starving until her bruises faded enough that she could go on job interviews.

The plumber would be paid for by her new landlord, an extremely kind man who rented out the attic apartment in his house while he and his wife were out gallivanting around the countryside in their RV. She'd liked Dale and Irma the second she'd met them, not too long after arriving in Senoia. She'd been sitting in her car in front of their house, eating take-out and circling help wanted and apartment rental ads when someone had rapped on her window. They'd invited her in and she was in residence by that night. She took it as a sign that maybe this small Georgia town could be a safe haven.

Ah, the plumber. Maybe he was another good sign? Dressed in well worn jeans, steel toed shit kickers, a short sleeved blue and white striped uniform shirt with his name sewn on the pocket under the logo for "SPS" Senoia Plumbing Service, he had a navy blue baseball cap pulled down over his dark hair, which had been long enough to brush his collar in the back. The sleeves of the shirt were pulled tight over impressive biceps, but overall he gave her the feeling of a whipcord thin readiness—for what she wasn't sure—but he seemed like a coiled spring, ready for action. The brim of his hat hid most of his face in shadow, but she did see that he had a moustache and a red-brown goatee on his pointed chin.

Carol checked her watch again. It had been almost a half an hour now—maybe the plumber could use a cup of Joe? Face it Carol, you just wanted to get a better look at the hot plumber. And what was so wrong with that? She self consciously touched the bandage covering her nose, looked at the cast on her wrist and sighed. She'd seen the look he'd given her, as if he knew exactly how she'd gotten her injuries and wanted to do something about it. Yeah, it had been the look of someone who knew...

Standing, Carol went to the cupboard and grabbed her second favorite mug bearing the legend "Java Saves." She was using her most favorite. A misshapen lopsided one with the letters "Mom" painted on it by a twelve year olds' hand.

"How are we doing?" Carol asked in her most pleasant secretary voice as she peeked through doorway of the bathroom. Her heart almost stopped. Bent over the tub, snaking a long bendy tool down the drain opening was the most perfect butt she had ever seen on a living man. Not trouser cleavage, his jeans were low slung, but the shirt was tucked in and the pants belted. No, this was the curve of a muscular, rounded, perfect derrière the likes of which she'd only seen on male ice dancers or gymnasts, her two favorite buttastic Olympic events, winter and summer respectively.

"Think I almost got it—somethin' caught in the trap down here." Daryl said without turning around. Not that Carol minded one bit, no sirree...He rose up on his toes a bit to get better leverage, pulling the jeans tighter over his muscular thighs and Carol sighed with what she recognized as lust, something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

"Brought you some coffee—"she began, but just then he made a sound of triumph and turned the tool with his vinyl gloved hands so he could twist the grabber attachment at the other end.

"Got it!" he crowed and started pulling the metal snake back out. Carol leaned closer, curious, and heard a squelch-pop noise as the grab claws pulled the offending item up through the drain.

"Huh." Daryl said as he lifted the tool to examine his prize.

Carol set the coffee mug down in the sink with a clunk. Daryl turned to face her holding a quite anatomically correct but purple small silicone dildo. He pushed his hat back on his head so he could peer more closely at it, inspecting it as a treasure hunter would his latest find brought up from a shipwreck. Raising one eyebrow his eyes rose to meet hers.

"Lose somthin'?" he drawled with a tiny side of the mouth grin, fighting to stay professional.

Carol blushed scarlet.

"_That's _not _mine." _she protested.

"Yeah? What yours like then?" Daryl asked curiously, winding her up.

"Well, it's not_ purple_!" she blurted indignantly, and he burst into real laughter. _Oh shit, she was in so much trouble here._ Carol thought. He'd just been the hot plumber before, but when he laughed he was _beautiful._ Those so blue eyes merry and knowing, a dimple appearing in his scruff covered cheek under those high cheek bones, his broad shoulders shaking with it.

"I see." he said, repressing his mirth. "Well, good to know I guess. Shouldn't be usin' anything battery powered in the tub, ya know," he admonished, tongue in cheek, as he set the purple vibrator down on the seat of the toilet and turned back to check that the tub was now draining properly.

"Your coffee's in the sink." Carol said stiffly and fled, mortified.

* * *

_I should just go—get in my car and drive around until he's gone..._ she thought as she paced the kitchen. _Either that or invite him to your room to see what your vibrator really looks like so he won't be confused... _the little demon on her shoulder said into her ear.

_"Mizz Peletier?"_ his honeyed Georgia drawl made the name sound good—like a caress—but she wanted him to say_ her name_, not that name she couldn't wait to shed along with the man who thought it meant he owned her.

"In the kitchen—down the hall past the living room." she called out, directing him to her rather than going to meet him. Daryl came into the kitchen, his hat in his hand, and found her standing in front of the sink, back lit by the sun coming through the window behind her, making her glow in a nimbus of early morning light. He was carrying the now empty coffee mug and held it out to her.

"Mizz Peletier, I...well I wanna apologize for bein' outa line back there." he said apologetically.

"Carol." she said and he looked puzzled. "My name is Carol." she repeated and held out her hand. He handed her the coffee cup.

_"Carol_." he said and smiled, his face lighting up again in pleasure. "Thanks for the coffee." he added and started to back away.

If he left, she thought with relief, she'd be alone again in her little safe haven apartment, with its locks and chains and deadbolts.

If he left, she thought with panic, she'd be _alone _and she might never see him again... she took a step towards him, still holding the Java Saves mug.

"That is mighty fine coffee..." Daryl said, stopping and looking at her a bit shyly through his long fringe of dark bangs, turning his hat over and over in his hands.

"Like another cup_...Daryl_?" Carol asked with a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Don't mind if'n I do, thank you... _Carol." _he grinned back.

* * *

**_I am working on my WIPs, I promise! but my Muse must be obeyed & she insisted that this be written tonight. Merry Christmas: )_**


	2. Chapter 2: Carolina Wren

**_Thanks to reviewers for the interest in having this story continue-I think there are a couple more chapters there. It's an interesting exercise not letting them get too OOC without all of the background and canon circumstances of the ZA to use as character development._**

**_Hope you enjoy the others from TWD that we know and love (or hate, LOL) who pop up in this chapter. _**

* * *

_**Carolina Wren**_

"...even found a diamond ring for a lady once—" Daryl was saying when his cell phone ring, Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Free Bird," began and he frowned and held up one finger, indicating that he had to answer it. Carol looked at the clock on the stove and was stunned to see that it was almost 10 a.m. They'd been sitting here at the kitchen table drinking coffee and chatting for almost an hour and a half.

"Yeah? Well, why can't you—" he began, a bit belligerently, but then his features smoothed out into a controlled mask, hiding some darker emotion. "Yes sir. No, I'm almost done here. Got a bit more ..._interesting_ than I expected..." he said and quickly glanced over at Carol, an infinitesimal smile playing at his mouth before it was shut down by whatever the person on the other end said in reply. "I can be there in ten. No, I got enough on me. Fine." and then he thumbed off the end button and tossed the phone down on the table with an angry frown.

"Someone's pipes burst?" Carol asked, smiling at him.

"Somthin' like that." Daryl said, still frowning darkly, running his long fingers around the handle of the coffee mug she'd refilled for him twice. Picking it up, he downed the last of it, now cold, with a slight grimace and then returned the cup to the table carefully, trying not to take his frustration out on the ceramics. He grabbed his phone up off the table and replaced it in the sheath at his belt with a sigh.

"Guess that means you'll be heading out." Carol said, sounding resigned, standing to take both mugs and set them in the kitchen sink across the room. Daryl stood then too and watched her, noting how graceful and economical her movements were. She was a tidy person—the bathroom and kitchen were sparsely decorated but immaculate —something that he appreciated after years of living with a brother who treated every dish like an ashtray and every surface like it was made to hold his dirty dishes or clothes.

Shit. _Merle._ He had to go, down to the county lock up and bail his big brother out...again.

"Yeah—no rest for the wicked," Daryl said, more weary emotionally than physically. His brother was a fuck up, plain and simple, but he was blood. And when his daddy called and told him to go drag Merle's sorry ass outa jail, that's what he had to do.

Daryl headed for the front door of the apartment, where he'd dropped off his tool box before coming into the kitchen to apologize to the small woman who now followed him into the living room. Carol had relaxed as they talked about nothing in particular, and her easy smile and gentle laughter had been like a balm to him. He supposed as far as life went, his wasn't really so terrible. Sure he had lots of family drama to deal with but hell, who didn't? But Daryl was lonely. With all of his other myriad responsibilities he didn't have time to date much, and when he did it was usually just a quick pick up in a bar—he'd never had any trouble getting laid if that's what he wanted—but sitting and having a real conversation with a nice woman? Naw. That didn't happen very often in his fucked up life.

He felt like she'd run a little hot and cold on him; as if she wasn't quite sure if she wanted to push him away or jump him—and frankly he'd felt the same—two steps forward and one step back. They'd flirted pretty outrageously there in the bathroom, but then she'd gone all shy on him and he'd come in here to apologize to her for embarrassing her. She'd surprised and pleased him by asking him to stay for coffee, but now he wasn't quite sure what the next step should be.

Daryl knew he wanted to see her again, but her injuries spoke of something going on in her life that cut a little too close to his own experiences, and were probably a big part of the reason why she seemed so unsure and inconsistent in her responses to him. Did he really want to get in the middle of whatever shit storm she probably had raining down on her?

"Thank you, Daryl." Carol said softly from behind him and he turned back to say goodbye faster than she expected. She was looking up at him like he was some rich sweet gooey dessert she wasn't allowed to have—it was a look of shy craving. Embarrassed to be caught at it, she lowered her long lashes over those crystal blue eyes, breaking eye contact, and started to step back and he reached a hand out too quickly to stop her. She caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and flinched back, a look of fear replacing the one of quiet longing and she raised her arms reflexively, protecting her face.

_"Shit."_ Daryl muttered, quickly lowering his hand and stepping back, "I'm sorry, Carol—"

"No—no it's ok—not your fault." Carol said, lowering her arms and forcing a tight smile, wondering if she'd ever be _right_ again; just be able to enjoy something as simple as being with a nice man, or of Ed had ruined her for all time. She looked up at Daryl, swallowing hard to get control of herself and gave a brave little sigh.

Daryl sighed in return. Shit yeah, she hit all of his triggers all right.

"Uh, is it ok if...is it ok if I call you sometime?" he asked softly, being as gentle with her as he would with a newborn fawn.

Carol looked up into his kind eyes, soft now with understanding. She tilted her head to the side and nodded yes, and then feeling braver than she had in a long time, she stepped closer and, bracing her right hand on his left forearm, she stood on tip toes to brush the lightest of kisses to his cheek.

Daryl held still, feeling like he did when he'd sit in his back yard, holding sunflower seeds in his open palms, and a little brown Carolina Wren would shyly hop up and steal a single seed.

"I'm glad I met you, Daryl Dixon." Carol said softly, before she stepped back and away from him.

"Feelins' mutual, Mizz Carol." Daryl smiled and picked up his tool box while she unlocked and unchained the door for him. "See ya soon." he added as he left and she smiled and nodded again.

After locking the door she wandered back to the kitchen, pushing aside the curtain just enough so she could stand, peering out at the sidewalk below to where he appeared, heading to his work truck. Daryl moved with easy assurance, the heavy tool box lifted carefully into the buoy box in the back and stowed. He stopped and looked back at the house, towards where her attic apartment would be, raised a hand in salute, and then got in the truck and sped off.

Smiling, Carol turned back towards the table and saw that he had left his blue baseball cap where he'd set it on the floor beside his chair. She walked over and picked it up, noticing for the first time the stylized "D" on the front. Feeling silly, but doing it anyhow, she lifted the hat to her nose and took a whiff. It was all him—that nice musky man sweat mixed with some masculine cologne or shampoo—and then she put it on her head, grinning when it dropped and the brim went almost to her eyebrows. She pushed it back a bit so she could see and wandered down the hall to the bathroom to check out her now working tub drain.

On the sink counter she found the purple silicone fake phallus carefully placed on top of a neatly printed note written on the top page of a Senoia Plumbing Service notepad which read, "You probably already know this, but you can run it through the dishwasher and it'll be clean as a whistle. D.D." Carol put her hand over her mouth and sat down hard on the toilet lid and laughed until tears were running down her blushing face, a bit terrified by the thought that he would call her, and even more so by the thought that maybe he wouldn't.

* * *

Three days later Carol sat in the hallway of the King County Courthouse with the county prosecutor, a very pretty blonde woman named Andrea Harrison whom she had only met yesterday when they had gone over her testimony. She'd been told that Ed had hired a shark of a lawyer, a man out to make a name for himself in the county, who was also running for mayor of Woodbury.

Her attention was diverted from Andrea by the doors of the last courtroom down to their right coming open and disgorging a mass of people. Something about one of the men at the far end of the corridor walking towards them seemed familiar—the set of his broad shoulders perhaps—and she frowned. His face was turned away and he was talking with another man, a bit stockier and older, but of similar build and overall looks. Both were fairly well dressed, dress slacks, long sleeved shirts and ties, but the elder, with a graying military style buzz cut, looked surly and sweaty, his hands shaking slightly, the right one in a cast similar to her own. The younger turned his face so Carol could finally see him and she was shocked at the reddish purple bruising all down the left side of his face and the eye which was almost swollen shut. It was Daryl, the hot plumber who had promised to call but never had.

"Oh hell, the Dixon brothers are here." Andrea said with a sour look.

"Brothers?" Carol asked.

"Yeah, and it looks like Daryl got the worst of it again too." Andrea sighed. "His brother and his daddy both use him as a punching bag. I swear that's why he ran track in high school, so he'd be fast enough to get away..." At Carol's shocked expression Andrea huffed out another sigh, "That's right, you're not from around here. Daryl's a sweet guy, but the rest of his family is the pits—they own the big plumbing company in town—his daddy's on the county board, big noise around here, but he's a mean son of a bitch. I went to school with Daryl."

Just then Merle noticed Andrea and a big shit eating grin broke out over his face and he sauntered over to the seated women, eyeing them both. Carol had worn her interview suit, wanting to appear both professional and confident. It was simple off the rack brown suit but she had tried to liven it up with a white blouse and the only good piece of jewelry she owned, her string of graduation pearls, at her throat. Andrea wore a more expensive looking tailored navy blue pinstripe, with an orange and blue patterned blouse and red soled high heeled Christian Louboutins, her hair pulled back in a casual bun at her neck. She was elegant and put together and Carol felt like a house wren next to her.

"Well, if it ain't Blondie! How you doin, Sweet Cheeks?" Merle drawled, standing with his legs apart, hands on hips, regarding the women with great interest. Daryl pulled up short and his undamaged eye grew wide as he recognized Carol, who blushed and lifted her chin, trying to hide her hurt expression.

"Merle, Daryl." Andrea said evenly, remaining seated.

"Long time no see—looks like lawyerin' agrees with ya though—lookin' _fine_..." Merle said, his eyes roving over the blonde's tight figure.

"Thank you...I think..." Andrea smirked, knowing that it was best to just ignore Merle and go on.

"Yeah—just havin' me a little dispute with that spic dick Martinez over some repairs he did on m'truck." Merle went on, ignoring Carol and the intense way his brother was looking at her.

"That so." Andrea said, feigning interest, looking over at Carol to roll her eyes, noticing for the first time the silent interplay between the other two people present.

"Daryl, this is my client, Carolina Peletier." Andrea introduced, "Carolina, this is Daryl Dixon—a friend of mine from high school—"

"Carol—she goes by Carol." Daryl interrupted, making Merle's head swivel around to look at the small woman in brown.

"Oh—so you two have already met?" Andrea said with undisguised curiosity.

"I had a plumbing problem and Mr. Dixon rectified it for me." Carol said stiffly.

_"Reck-tee-fied?"_ Merle chuckled, "You a school teacher, missy?"

"Peletier v. Peletier!" a Bailiff called out from the door way of the courtroom in front of which the women were sitting before Carol could respond.

"Carol?" Daryl tried to catch her attention, but the women's gazes were captured by two tall men sauntering down the hallway towards them, one heavyset with jowls and close shaven hair, wearing a dark suit that was a little too tight around the middle, and the other a charismatically handsome man in his 40s with brown hair combed back neatly off his forehead and inquisitive blue eyes, taking in everything around him with a calculated smile. Like Andrea his clothes were expensively tailored and pressed, suited more for a boardroom in Atlanta than a small town courthouse.

From the other direction came two uniformed King County Sheriff's deputies.

All four men stopped in front of Andrea and Carol, who now stood to face them. Ed glared at Carol and stepped towards her, but Daryl and one of the deputies, the one with blue eyes and short curly brown hair, interposed themselves between the big man and his small wife.

"Hey Daryl." the deputy said without looking at the other man.

"Hey Rick." Daryl said nonchalantly, as if they were meeting at one of the local watering holes.

"Run into a door again?" Rick asked blandly, knowing very well what had probably happened to his best friend's face. Merle cleared his throat and stepped back, leaning on the wall, getting out of the way while the second deputy gave him the stink eye.

"Somthin' like that." both men said at the same time, a well worn routine, and crossing their arms in front of them, they stared down Ed Peletier.

"You got business here?" Rick asked, still talking to Daryl.

"Got Merle to court—done now." Daryl said. Rick glanced back over his shoulder at Carol, who was biting her lower lip uncertainly as Daryl continued, "Talkin' to Andrea when it looked like this here...man...didn't understand the concept a 'personal space, so I stepped up."

"Andrea?"

"That's right Rick." Andrea confirmed.

"Mr. Blake, I'd personally appreciate it if you'n yer client would go on ahead into the courtroom." Rick requested in a sincere drawl.

Pursing his lips and looking carefully at each of them, focusing on Daryl and Carol especially, Phillip Blake nodded and leaned close to say something to his client who snarled briefly but then subsided and followed his lawyer into the room across the hall.

"Thank you, Rick." Andrea said, and then they all heard quiet clapping behind them.

"That's right, let's hear it for Officer Friendly, hero of the people." Merle said sarcastically.

"Shut it, Merle." Daryl called back and the other deputy body blocked the older Dixon brother from coming forward.

"Come on Shane, we need to get inside too." Rick said to his dark haired, dark eyed partner, who gave Merle one last warning glare and then came forward. Both deputies nodded to Andrea and Carol and went across the hall.

"It was nice to see you again, Daryl. Call me sometime and we'll get caught up." Andrea said with a smile, reaching her hand out to put it on Daryl's arm, but he flinched back at the unexpected contact and Carol saw the purple bruising through the open gap by his shirt sleeve cuff. Her eyes filled with tears, no longer angry or disappointed that he hadn't called her, realizing that he had his own demons with which to deal. One of them was standing to their right.

"How 'bout you and _me_ get together then, Madame Prosecutor?" Merle said in a smarmy voice that he probably thought was sexy.

"The way you're going, Merle..." Andrea smirked, "It's only a matter of time." And then she nodded one last time at Daryl and started across the hall. Carol's chin came up and she pursed her lips as her liquid blue eyes met Daryl's and she gave him a tiny nod of thanks and followed the other woman across to the courtroom. Daryl continued to stare at the doors even after the bailiff closed them tightly.

"You sweet on that little Carolina Wren, baby bro?" Merle asked curiously, wondering why his brother would be interested in a mousey woman like that when a fine piece like Andrea Harrison was askin' him to call.

"Just shut the fuck up, Merle." Daryl said, and sat down on the bench to wait.

* * *

_**The Carolina Wren is an abundant permanent resident of the Atlanta area, and is a quick eyed, small brown bird with a bold white slash over each eye and a long upright tail.**_

_**To Summers Rage who felt that the characters weren't consistent enough in how they acted in the first chapter, that really was deliberate. They both have a lot of secrets, including their on-going abuse issues, the circumstances of Sophia's death, and also have conflicted feelings about expressing their own sexuality. They are attracted to one another, but are afraid of opening themselves up to getting hurt again. As Daryl says in this chapter, "it's two steps forward and one step back." I hope that makes sense!**_

_**Thanks for reading, favoriting, following & of course reviewing. **_

_**DD1**_


	3. Chapter 3: A Simple Man

_**The unholy alliance of Phillip Blake and Ed Peletier continues to cause problems for Carol, and Daryl gets drawn into the conflict.**_

_**AN: As always thanks for reading, favoriting, following and reviewing! **_

* * *

_**A Simple Man**_

_**[Chorus:]**_**  
And be a simple kind of man.  
Be something you love and understand.  
Be a simple kind of man.  
Won't you do this for me son,  
If you can?**

_Sung by Lynyrd Skynyrd; Writer(s): Ronnie van Zant, Gary Robert Rossington, Allen Collins  
Copyright: Get Loose Music Inc., Songs Of Universal Inc., Duchess Music Corp._

Daryl was pacing. Merle had long since departed so he'd sat alone on the bench for an hour but he couldn't take it anymore, the waiting. It took everything he had not to just go fling open the courtroom doors and find that asshole she was married to and sucker punch him until he was laid out on the floor... _shit_ the fucker was big though... the idea of him laying his hands on a woman as petite as Carol made Daryl sick.

Daryl could take it—he'd been taking it as long as he could remember; he was used to getting pounded on by someone, he could fight back, but she was delicate, soft, small...weak. She needed to be protected, not hurt; what was wrong with men like that? Having somethin' so wonderful and precious and all they could figure out how to do with it was destroy its beauty.

She'd looked pretty in the yoga pants and soft looking sweater she'd had on the other day when they'd met—it had thrown him off a little when he saw her in the fussy brown suit. The bandage on her nose was gone so now the small stitched up cut on the bridge was fully visible. Daryl had seen the massive fraternity ring the big man had been wearing on his right ring finger, the diamond must've had been what laid open her delicate skin.

Carol came out, Andrea's arm around her shoulders, looking totally defeated. Rick and Shane walked behind her protectively, grim looks on both of their faces.

Shit—what the hell had gone wrong? They had the bastard dead to rights—the evidence was written all over her face, what else did they need?

"You'll make sure she reports at the appointed day and time?" Phillip Blake said smugly, to Andrea and Rick, glancing over at Daryl who stood back close to the bench.

"It was ordered by the judge, I'll do my sworn duty as an officer of the court." Andrea said curtly.

"It's for yer own good, Carolina—you heard what the psychiatrist said—ya ain't been in yer right mind since Sophia—" Ed said, trying to get to Carol again, reaching out his hand to place on her back. Like a terrier going at a St. Bernard, Daryl was there, bumping his chest against Ed to push him back away from her.

"Keep your hands off her!" Daryl snarled.

"Daryl!" Rick said tersely, grabbing the shoulder of Daryl's shirt and hauling him bodily back away from Ed.

"You keep that redneck sum'bitch off me now, Deputy!" Ed bellowed, "He don't tell me what—thas _my_ wife!"

"Not for much longer you piece of shit." Carol said quietly but clearly, making them all stop and turn to stare at her.

"I ain't signin' no papers." Ed said belligerently.

"You don't have to. I filed a no fault petition, this marriage is irretrievably broken and –"Carol said hotly, but Andrea gripped her arm.

"Oh shit," Andrea said, closing her eyes, "_That's_ why you did it, you son a bitch!" She rounded on Blake.

"What?" Daryl asked. 'What's wrong?"

"They ordered Carol to undergo a psychiatric evaluation." Andrea said, "They're claiming her daughter's death caused her to have a breakdown—that she ran away from home..."

"That don't give him no excuse for hittin' her!" Daryl argued.

"None of the witness would corroborate her account." Rick told his friend, staring angrily at the three women who had worked in Carol's office, who were trying to sneak out of the courtroom undetected. When he and Shane had arrived and handcuffed Peletier they had taken witness statements from all three; statements which they had claimed today had been taken under duress and then recanted. Someone had gotten to them.

"How'd you get those bruises on _your_ face Mr. Dixon?" Blake asked with arrogant speculation. "Maybe you and your paramour had a knock down drag out and decided to blame it on my client to shake him down in a divorce settlement."

"_Paramour?" _Daryl asked incredulously, "I just met the woman a couple a days ago! I'm her _plumber_, for Christ's sake!"

"Oh, is that what they're callin' it these days?" Blake smirked.

"Why you smarmy son of a –" Daryl bit out and launched himself towards the lawyer, but both Shane and Rick held him back.

"So what does this all mean, Andrea?" Carol asked, coming forward and putting a gentle hand on Daryl's shoulder. He immediately stopped fighting the deputies' hold on him and relaxed into her touch.

"Almost all civil and criminal court actions, including divorce petitions, are put on hold until after the outcome of the psychiatric evaluation." Andrea told her, feeling terrible. She wished she had known about Carol's attempt to go through with a divorce. She'd let her down by being in a rush, by not asking the right questions, by looking for the next bigger case that could put her on the fast track to a better position up in the city instead of spending more time on this 'simple' assault case.

"No..." Carol moaned, reeling, reflexively gripping the material of Daryl's shirt tightly.

Peletier smiled at her distress and turned away, followed by his attorney, who nodded at Andrea with a smug "you should've done your homework" smile and eyebrow raise.

"So now what do we do?" Daryl asked, throwing his lot in with Carol's without much due consideration, turning so he could put his arm around her comfortingly. It spoke to how upset she was that she let him.

"There_ is_ something we can do today—come with me—we're going to file a family violence petition with the clerk of the superior court. That's something that supersedes everything else. They can't contest it plus it gives you some better legal ground to stand on and will get you some financial aid."

"I can't afford to hire a lawyer, Andrea—I can barely afford to eat most days!" Carol admitted with acute embarrassment and Daryl looked at her sharply, realizing her thin frame wasn't necessarily a health issue.

_"I'm_ your lawyer.' Andrea said firmly. I was going to take a leave of absence to road trip with my sister after her college graduation next week—we'll just stick a bit closer to home so I can work on your case."

"I still can't afford..."

"I'm doing it pro bono. We have to do a certain percentage of them a year to keep our bar membership." Andrea insisted. "Besides, I want to wipe that smug smile off _both_ those bastard's faces." she said, smiling fiercely.

"I can't ask you to do that!" Carol said, unsure of why a high powered lawyer would want to help someone like her for free.

"You don't have to—it's done." Andrea said with finality and then looked over at Rick and Shane. "Can you run some extra patrols by her place for the next week or so? I really didn't like the look in Peletier's eyes just now."

Rick nodded but then looked speculatively at Daryl, wondering just exactly was going on with his friend and this woman he claimed to have just met.

He'd know Daryl most of his life, they'd grown up together here in Senoia and his home had been a safe house of sorts for Daryl when it got too hairy for him at his place. When his mother had died when Daryl had been eight, he'd even come and lived with them for several weeks during the investigation, while Daryl's father drank himself into a stupor. Then Merle had come home from the Army and retrieved his little brother and gotten his father in rehab and things went back to as normal as they ever got for the Dixons.

As many times as he'd seen Daryl's bruises Rick never got over feeling sick about them. The youngest Dixon never pressed charges, claiming whatever happened to him had been his fault and refused to discuss it further. Daryl grew up tough and should've been hardened, but somehow he never lost the kind nature he'd always had as a child. He loved animals and had dreamed of being a veterinarian, but his father dragooned him into the family business and he'd been a plumber for the last twelve years, the same amount of time Rick had been a deputy sheriff.

Whereas Rick had gotten on with his life, marrying and having a son with another child on the way, Daryl seemed stuck in the life he had led since graduation from trade school. He lived with his brother in a small house right next to the larger home where his father and stepmother lived, bought from the insurance money the family had received after his mother's accidental death in a house fire.

Merle and Daryl, the Dixon Boys, were considered good catches, heirs to the plumbing empire his father and step mother, a shrewd business woman, had built, but neither of them seemed in any hurry to settle down. As far as Rick knew, neither of them had ever had a steady girlfriend, and when he'd once, not too long ago, asked Daryl about it, when Lori had wanted to fix him up with one of her friends, a young and pretty vet tech, Daryl had scoffed, saying his life was complicated enough as it was.

_If Daryl wasn't into complicated_, Rick thought to himself, _little Mrs. Peletier was certainly an interesting choice..._

* * *

"Thank you for making sure I got home ok." Carol told Daryl as he walked her to the door of the house. He'd followed her car from the courthouse on his motorcycle, Rick and Shane close behind. They'd just waved off, heading out on a call, leaving Daryl and Carol alone.

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what he had expected to happen now. He'd stayed with her while she filled out the paperwork for the family violence petition and had endured Andrea's pointed stare at his bruises and sotto voce question as she wandered back to his waiting place against the back wall of the room, asking him if he wanted a set of the forms to fill out as well. He'd scowled at her and told her to mind her own damn business.

"You're welcome." Daryl said to Carol and panicked a little when he saw her hand start to turn the door knob. _"I was gonna call you." _he said quickly, and was relieved to see her hand release the knob. She turned slowly to look up at his battered face.

"This why you didn't?" she asked softly, ever so slowly raising her hand to his non-bruised cheek. He closed his eyes and nodded, raising his hand to place it over hers to hold it there. She sighed.

"Quite a pair, aren't we?" she said sadly, "The walking wounded."

"Better n' the walking dead." Daryl said with a snort.

"That's what I feel like sometimes Daryl." Carol's voice was hollow, "Like all the life has been scooped out of me and I just keep moving despite it."

"How'd she die?" Daryl asked, sliding Carol's small hand to his lips and pressing a kiss there for courage.

"I ... I can't talk about it yet, Daryl..." Carol said, tugging her hand down from his face and looking away. He opened his eyes and looked down at her, retaining his hold on her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

"Ain't had dinner yet-take a ride with me?" he asked, nodding back toward the big Triumph motorcycle.

"I can't ride a bike in this suit..." she protested.

"If that's the only problem with the idea, I can wait while you change."

"Are you asking me out on a date, Daryl Dixon?" Carol asked.

"Yes m'am, I believe I just did." Daryl grinned back at her.

* * *

She changed into her cowboy boots, jeans, a soft red cashmere sweater that she'd found at the Goodwill for a song and her denim jacket she'd had since High School. He lent her his helmet and put on dark black wrap around Ray Bans to shield his eyes from the wind. He liked that she didn't bring a purse, just stuffed her house key and wallet in his leather jacket pocket and zipped it up and she liked that he'd drawn her arms around his torso and told her to hold on tight.

He took her to a barbeque place with outdoor seating just outside of town called "Big Dog's Highway 85 Shack" and they had the works, pit baked potatoes, corn on the cob dripping with butter, and fall off the bone ribs. For a skinny gal, Carol put away an impressive amount of food, and though he switched to Coke after one beer, she had three bottles and was a bit glassy eyed and giggly by the end of the meal. But hell, he figured after the shitty day she'd had, she deserved it.

"I think I'm a lil' bit tipsy, Derle." she said and she sat slouched down in her chair looking over at him with what could only be described as a sly smile.

"Are ya now?" Daryl returned smoothly, taking a pull on his Coke in the green glass bottle. The Big Dog liked tradition and paid extra to have the Coke the right way, in bottles, delivered to the table like the beers, in a metal pail of ice.

"That's how your name sound when your brother says it... so it rhymes with his, _Derle n' Merle_." Carol giggled, "He's a pain in the ass in't he?"

"He's family." Daryl said carefully and Carol nodded in understanding.

"Hey!" Carol said brightly, as if something had just occurred to her, but then her attention got distracted by the arrival of the sweet potato pie. After she polished off her piece and half of his, Carol stared at him with a frown.

"I was sayin' somthin—what was it? Oh! I know! Our names _actually _rhyme!" Carol said sagely. "Carol and Daryl...Caryl..."

"That they do," Daryl agreed, suppressing his smile.

"Thin' that means something?" she asked, blinking at him.

"Dunno." Daryl shrugged "D'you?" he asked and she nodded and held out her hand to him.

"I think it means we should dance." she said solemnly as her fingers closed over his and she stood, pulling him up with her, leading him out onto the small dance floor where a DJ was playing good old southern rock. Daryl looked amused; it was still early so they were the only couple on the floor, but the DJ recognized him and gave him a wave, holding up a particular CD and pointed to him with a grin. In a few seconds the strains of Lynyrd Skynyrd's_ "Simple Man" _came through the loudspeakers.

Carol felt everything: Daryl's big sigh as he wrapped his arms tightly around her, swaying to the slow rock ballad, the vibrations in his chest as he sang along, the kiss he placed on the crown of her head at the end of the first verse. She looked up at him then and saw that he had tears in his eyes and looked at him questioningly. He just smiled ruefully and mouthed, _good song._

_Mama told me when I was young  
Come sit beside me, my only son  
and listen closely to what I say.  
And if you do this  
It will help you some sunny day.  
Take your time... Don't live too fast,  
Troubles will come and they will pass.  
Go find a woman and you'll find love,  
And don't forget son,  
There is someone up above._

_[Chorus:]_  
_And be a simple kind of man.  
Be something you love and understand.  
Be a simple kind of man.  
Won't you do this for me son,  
If you can?_

_Boy, don't you worry.  
You'll find yourself.  
Follow your heart,  
and nothing else.  
You can do this,  
if you try.  
All that I want for you my son,  
is to be satisfied._

When the song ended, Daryl nodded at the DJ and led Carol over to be introduced. He'd been doing that all night—it was obvious he was a regular and everyone was intrigued by his being here on an actual date and were curious to meet the woman he'd brought. Even the kitchen staff wanted to meet her, so they stopped back there and she praised the food, burping loudly and then giggling when the head chef, Big Dog's son, Theodore, laughed and told her that was the best compliment he could get.

"Ok if we go up on the roof, T-Dog?" Daryl asked the smiling African American chef.

"Gonna show her the view?" T-Dog asked, raising an eyebrow and winking at them, "Can see practically all of King County from up there." he nodded and motioned them towards the wrought iron stairs leading up to the roof.

T-Dog was right—it was an amazing view, watching the sun go down and the lights come up, sparkling in the distance, every one of them a home, a family of one sort or other. Daryl had his arm around her shoulders and she looked up at him.

"Pretty romantic..." Carol said with a cheeky grin, "Wanna screw around?" she asked with a sideways glance and slow smile.

"Stop." Daryl admonished, "You're drunk."

"Lil bit." she agreed, nodding her head.

"Don't take advantage of drunks—goes against my code; 'sides I want you to _remember_ the first time we..." and he stopped. What the hell was he saying?

"First time we what?" Carol asked, turning in his arms, pressing her slender gently curved body up against his and reaching up to touch his mouth, running her thumb along his full lower lip.

_ "Vixen."_ Daryl breathed, letting his eyelids drift down and closing his lips over her finger, sucking it into his mouth with a groan.

_"Dixon..."_ Carol replied, smiling at her ability to still rhyme, and then her knees felt weak as he swirled his tongue around her thumb, imagining how that would feel on other parts of her body. He released her finger and his lips moved to her ear.

"Kiss _me_, Carol...so I know you really want it too." Daryl whispered and she took a hold of the lapels of his leather jacket and pulled his mouth down to hers. It was chemical, a chain reaction wrought from all of the high emotions of the last few days. They sought solace and comfort in one another, but the attraction lit the burner higher, and the kiss boiled over into true passion, something neither of them had expected so soon.

"What was that code thingy?" Carol said, panting, her fingers caught in his hair, holding him to her.

"Don't take advantage of drunks..." Daryl said, breathing heavily, swallowing hard.

"Damn."

"Yeah." he agreed, but released her.

"We should probably—" Carol motioned to the stairs, her eyes over bright.

"OK—be careful, they're hard to see in the dark—here, I'll go down first..." Daryl saw her open her mouth to make a smart ass remark but he held up his index finger to stop her and she smirked at him.

* * *

"Daryl, what is it? What's wrong?" Carol yelled, feeling Daryl's body suddenly go tense against her arms as they headed back towards town on the bike.

"We need to get there..." Daryl said tersely, and put the pedal to the metal.

They arrived at the house just as the firemen were breaking through the roof. Flames leapt from the windows and two fire trucks were pouring thousands of gallons of water on the blaze. Sheriff's deputy cars had blocked off the street, but when Rick saw Daryl's bike he motioned it through the barricade.

Andrea, Dale and Irma were anxiously watching the firemen work, but as soon as they saw Carol they yelled her name and ran to her, overjoyed to see her alive.

"Oh thank God, you're ok—when we saw your car was here we thought—oh, God Carol, it's so good to see you!" Irma said, hugging her new friend close.

"You didn't answer your phone!" Andrea said angrily, but then she hugged Carol close in relief as well.

"It was plugged in to the charger—I must've forgotten to bring it with..." Carol said in apology, beginning to realize that almost everything she owned except the clothes on her back and what was in her car, was in that apartment. Thank God she'd scanned and uploaded her photo albums to the cloud before she'd left Ed. Her precious pictures of Sophia were safe.

"You ok, man?" Rick asked Daryl quietly, knowing what kind of memories this would bring back for Daryl, who had watched his own house burn down when he was only a child, with his mother trapped inside. The other man was as pale as a sheet.

"She was supposed to be _in_ there, man...if we hadn't gone out for dinner..._fuck..."_ he looked at Rick, wild eyed, and then he whispered harshly, "They _knew,_ Rick, they _knew_ about my momma!"

"Let's not jump to any conclusions now, Daryl." Rick said, striving for calm. "We don't know that this was anything but an accident—wiring, candle left burning—could be any number of things—we'll have to wait until the fire marshal gets done..."

"It was _them,_ Rick—Blake and Peletier—they tried to _kill_ her tonight...and they were gonna pin it on _me."_ Daryl said, his voice deadly quiet as he watched Carol watching her home burn.

* * *

_**Big **__**Jim's **__**Highway 85 Shack is a real barbeque joint outside Senoia, I altered the name slightly to include you know who in the story.**_

"**What are the grounds for divorce in Georgia?**

_In Georgia there are 13 grounds for divorce. One ground is irretrievably broken (sometimes referred to as the no fault ground). The other 12 grounds for divorce in Georgia are fault grounds._

**What is a no-fault divorce?**

_To obtain a divorce on this basis (irretrievably broken), one party must establish that he or she refuses to live with the other spouse and that there is no hope of reconciliation. It is not necessary for both parties to agree the marriage is irretrievably broken. Also, it is not necessary to show that there was any fault or wrongdoing by either party._

_**What do I do if I am the victim of family violence?**_

_Georgia has a law protecting victims of family violence. __The victim does not need an attorney to file a family violence petition. The clerk of the superior court in the victim's residing county may provide forms for the petition or be able to direct a victim to a family violence shelter..." __Divorce, State Bar of Georgia Consumer Pamphlet Series._


	4. Chapter 4: Force Majeure

**__****_Carol, Daryl and friends deal with the aftermath of the fire and the new complications that arise as a result._**

**_AN: Not sure why this one is coming so easily, but I'm just going to go with it, LOL! Enjoy!_**

* * *

**_Force Majeure_**

**French: A superior or irresistible power.**_** An event that is a result of the elements of nature, as opposed to one caused by human behavior.**_

"We'll be fine—we have the RV—but Carol will need to get a hotel room until we can figure everything out..." Dale said in response to Andrea's questions about insurance and the Fire Marshal's time table. Carol had been relieved to know that the Horvaths were completely insured, including a renter's rider that they had added to their home policy. She clutched at the blue bandana handkerchief that Dale had given her when he saw her tears, feeling so guilty about bringing her troubles literally to their doorstep.

"She can stay with me." Andrea volunteered, but Daryl looked uneasily at Rick. He wanted Carol where he knew she was safe, and although Andrea was a damn fine lawyer he wasn't sure she was up to the kind of full force protection necessary for what was facing Carol in the form of her husband and Blake.

Rick sighed, knowing what Daryl was asking, hoping it was the right decision.

"No—she's coming home with me." Rick announced in a no nonsense tone. Daryl visibly relaxed. Rick and his family lived in the same house his parents had owned, the only place where Daryl had ever felt truly safe in his life. The place where he was still welcome to crash anytime.

Carol looked at the lawman with puzzlement. At dinner when she'd asked Daryl how he knew the man who had arrested her husband he had told her about his close friendship with Rick and his wife, Lori. who was seven months pregnant.

"Sheriff Grimes—I can't—I'm not exactly a safe person to be around right now if you hadn't noticed. You have a family..." Carol said.

"She's right, Rick. Think about Lori, Carl, the baby!" Shane jumped into the conversation. His voice was all controlled agitation, low and grating and he got in close to Rick on the other side of where Daryl stood.

"If two well armed cops and a redneck that's a dead eye with a bow can't protect our home we're all in trouble." Rick said with a wry determined smile.

"Damn straight." Daryl agreed.

"Bow?" Carol said, arching Daryl a raised eyebrow look.

"He was on the archery team in High School; State Champion." Andrea said to Carol and then smiled warmly and winked at Daryl. "Good to know you kept it up."

Carol frowned at the subtle innuendo, but Daryl snorted and very unsubtly put his arm around Carol's shoulders.

"Use a crossbow now." Daryl told them.

"Just like Chewbacca." Rick said with a grin. It was an old joke with them. Carl had been into _Star Wars_ like crazy as long as they could remember and he'd likened his shaggy Uncle Daryl to the Wookie on many occasions. Rick was his Han Solo, his mom Princess Leia, Uncle Shane was Lando Calrissian and Carl was, of course, Luke Skywalker. Recently he'd decided that his mother's boss was Obi Wan Kenobi, a fact which the old vet seemed to take with sage-like equanimity.

"The Force _is_ strong with this one." Andrea said, winking at Carol.

"I guess that's the best plan then." Daryl nodded, missing the wink, "Carol?"

Carol felt overwhelmed by the generosity of these people she hardly knew. She wiped away the tears that came unbidden and nodded silently at Daryl, Andrea and Rick with gratitude.

"Let me give Lori a heads up and then we'll head out." Rick said. "We were just going off duty, but when we heard it was your place...well, we high tailed it over here. Excuse me."

As Rick got out his cell phone and wandered a bit apart to make his call, Andrea and the Horvaths went to talk to the Fire Marshal. Shane came closer to Carol and Daryl, eyeballing them speculatively.

"You gonna tell us what's really goin' on here?" Shane said in an icy tone.

Carol gave him a bewildered look and Daryl stood straighter, moving slightly in front of Carol, protecting her with his body.

"No way a divorce case spirals into attempted murder unless there's somethin' deeper underneath— money, sex or kids." Shane said quietly, doing the math, counting on his fingers. "Now I'm sorry about your girl, I truly am, but I'm not having my sister and my nephew put in danger because of someone I don't even know unless I know the truth of the situation."

"Your sister?"

"Rick's wife Lori is Shane's step-sister," Daryl told her. Both divorced with a child, Shane's father and Lori's mother had married when their two kids were teenagers, and then had both been killed in a car accident a few years ago. Lori was the only family he had left and Shane was very protective of her.

"I'm sorry, but I only know what I've told all of you. My husband is...well...once something is _his _he doesn't _ever_ let it go. If he can't have me, I think he'd rather have me dead." Carol said.

Shane looked at her assessingly.

"You knocked up?" he asked bluntly and Daryl took a menacing step closer.

"What the hell, Shane?" Daryl bit out.

"Man gets even more wound up when there's a baby involved." Shane said, squinting at Carol, ignoring Daryl, which wasn't easy to do. He was practically vibrating with simmering anger at the implied insult.

"I left my husband's home and bed six months ago. If I am, then I'd say I'm hiding it pretty well." Carol said dryly, unbuttoning her denim jacket so he could see how thin she was. Shane looked pointedly at her slightly bulging belly. "That's three beers and the best ribs I've ever eaten." she chuckled, putting her hand over her abdomen. "Dixon took me to Big Dog's for supper."

Shane seemed to relax a bit at her returned good humor.

"You meet T-Dog and the rest?" Shane smiled despite himself. Carol smiled back and nodded.

"He let us up on the roof—amazing view." Carol said.

"Shit man, you took her _up on the roof_?" Shane snorted at Daryl. The place was a well known private 'make-out' spot. Carol looked back at Daryl with confusion.

"Is that against the law or something?" Carol asked with concern. Daryl glared at Shane who shook his head at them and held his hands up in surrender.

"Ain't none a my business," he said to Daryl, "but don't be wondering' why that asshole and his mouth piece got a hard on for y'all when you're goin' _up on the roof_ with his wife."

"Who's goin' up on the roof?" Rick said as he came back over to the three of them.

"Daryl took his new _married_ lady friend over to the Big Dog for supper." Shane said.

"_Back off,_ Shane. Like you said, ain't none a yer damn business." Daryl said in a warning growl.

'Yeah, you're just her _plumber_, right?" Shane said sarcastically. "I'm outa here. I'll run the squad back to the station—you good?" he asked Rick, ignoring Carol and Daryl.

"I'll catch a ride, no worries. Sign me out. Meet you at the house." Rick said, and as Shane walked away added, "Hey—grab me a box of ammo for the Python will ya?"

"Already did—in my gun bag." Shane called back as he headed for the squad car.

"You ready to go?" Rick asked Carol kindly.

"Not like I have any packing to do." Carol shrugged looking up at the smoldering burned out ruins of her little safe haven apartment. She should've known even that was an illusion. No amount of locks, chains or deadbolts could keep Ed from getting to her. If there was any safety to be had it was in people—like these—watching out for her. The problem is that put them at risk as well...

"You got the keys for your Cherokee?" Daryl asked.

"In your pocket with the apartment keys." Carol nodded; feeling a bit bereft to think she wouldn't get to ride with him on the bike if she drove her car. Daryl unzipped his pocket and dug the keys out and tossed them to Rick.

"You take her car, then. We'll meet you there." Daryl said, but at Rick's raised eyebrow and pointed look at Carol, he realized he'd just overstepped, making a decision without consulting anyone, namely the woman he still had his arm around. He'd wondered why everyone was giving him the fish eye all night, but realized that none of them had ever seen him with a woman, let alone one that he couldn't seem to keep his hands off of for more than a minute or two.

"If that's ok." Daryl said carefully to Carol.

"Sounds like a plan." Carol said calmly, and then looked Rick up and down, adding, "He looks like he can drive a standard." Both Rick and Daryl grinned at her.

* * *

Lori Grimes was not at all what Carol had expected. Tall and thin with long dark hair and eyes, she was hugely pregnant, but it was all baby. There didn't seem to be an ounce of fat anywhere else on her. She was very nice, but seemed stressed and high strung. It may have just been the hormones making her that way, but it was like a jittery caffeine high more than anything else. Carol had somehow expected the Deputy Sheriff with the kind eyes to be married to more of a calm earth mother type who baked pies and played guitar as she sang "Michael Row the Boat Ashore."

"I'm so sorry to intrude on your home like this," Carol began with an apology after the initial introductions had been made.

"Nonsense—you're important to Daryl and he's important to us." Lori said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I put you in his room...you don't have any things? Of course you don't! Duh. I'm sorry—it'll take me a little bit to get my brain in gear, I was asleep when Rick called—God, I miss coffee—do you want some? I put the pot on when Rick called."

Carol's eyes went wide at the non-stop stream of consciousness from the dark haired woman. She couldn't imagine what Lori would be like normally if this was her _without_ coffee!

"Thanks hon." Daryl said, smiling warmly at one of his few female friends and she bustled away towards the kitchen.

It had taken him awhile to warm up to Lori and her tag-along brother when Rick had started dating her in college. She'd been prickly with him as well, jealous of and not quite understanding the closeness between the two men. Rick had enough sense to not try to force them together; he just let everyone get used to each other.

Daryl had been best man at their wedding thirteen years ago, the only time in his life he had ever worn a tuxedo _and he hoped to shit he'd never have to do it again_, he thought, glancing at Carol who was looking over the wall display of family pictures. When she came to the group wedding photo she looked surprised and glanced back at him questioningly, pointing at the man standing next to Rick in the monkey suit complete with bow tie; beardless with his hair still fairly long but neatly trimmed.

"Yeah, that's me." Daryl said with a pained look.

Carol thought he looked amazing in the picture, young, happy and proud, dressed to the nines like some movie star on a red carpet. There was a funny picture next to the serious one though, that really showed how handsome he was. He Rick and Shane were standing, wearing their shiny shoes and tuxedo pants, but with sleeveless white shirts open at the neck, red suspenders and gimme caps, flexing their impressive biceps, holding a beer in one hand, stalks of hay in their teeth, looking at the camera with narrowed eyes, bad asses all. Carol could see a tattoo on Daryl's right inner bicep in the photo and wondered if that was the only one he had.

"I like this one better," Carol smiled, touching the glass over his image. Daryl's mouth quirked into a tiny grin and he thrust his chin out, nodding.

"You doin' ok?" he asked her as Carol continued to gaze at the pictures, stopping at one of Carl as a toddler being led around on a black and white pony by Lori.

"Their little boy?" she asked, ignoring his question, thinking she remembered that from their earlier conversation.

"Carl—he's twelve now." Daryl told her, pointing at a more recent photo of him wearing a cowboy hat, riding a larger pony beside Lori on a black and white horse and another blonde girl she didn't recognize on a chestnut.

_The same age as Sophia._ Carol thought, wondering if the two of them could've gotten to be friends.

"That's a big age gap." Carol mused, thinking of the new baby.

"Same as me n' Merle." Daryl nodded. "Course I was an accident." he said self deprecatingly. "Momma called me her lil'oops."

"But she's happy to have you..." Carol said, looking back at him with concern.

"She was." Daryl nodded. He'd doubted a lot of things in his life, but he'd never doubted that his momma had loved him. If she'd lived, if his daddy hadn't blamed him for her death...well, things might've been a whole lot different.

"Was?"

"She's gone. Died...in a fire." Daryl said softly, looking at a picture of he and Rick as little boys, taken on the porch steps of the Dixon's old house, their arms around each other's shoulders, Daryl sported a black eye, Rick's left arm was in a cast. That had been the summer before the house had burned, the picture was taken by his mother.

_"A fire?"_ Carol went pale and turned to face him. Daryl was chewing on the inside of his lower lip, staring at the picture.

"My daddy was out of town on business, Merle was in the service. I was supposed to be home, but I snuck out and came over here, to see Rick's new tree house. Call came in on Sheriff Grimes's scanner—Rick's dad—and he came runnin' to the tree house to make sure Rick was up there and not at my place and told us what was happening...he tried to stop me, but I fought him off and ran all the way home. My momma—well, she smoked in bed—and she musta fell asleep...'n I wasn't there to check on her..." Daryl's voice trailed off and Carol saw that his right fist was clenched with so much force that his nails had cut into his palm and blood dripped from it, slowly.

"Daryl—your hand." Carol said and pulled out the handkerchief that Dale had given her earlier. She lifted his hand with both of hers and carefully wrapped the blue bandana around it to staunch the blood flow.

Daryl's stomach felt funny, his head light as she gently bandaged his palm. The combination of her closeness and reliving his guilt over his mother's death was doing strange things to his equilibrium.

"It must've been awful for you." Carol said quietly, understanding something about his feelings of guilt. She raised his self inflicted wound to her lips for a soft gentle lingering kiss. Daryl let his other hand settle at her waist and she looked up at him questioningly. He put his bandaged palm against her cheek and leaned down to kiss her for no reason other than he wanted to do it more than anything else in the world at that moment.

The half drunken kiss of passion atop the roof of Big Dog's had been hot, combustible. This was different, this was a patient kiss, a kiss that asked for her trust and promised many more kisses to come. Whatever this thing was between them, it was like a force of nature, irresistible.

"Coffee!" Lori called brightly and Daryl and Carol slowly broke apart.

"I'm sorry about your momma, Daryl." Carol said softly.

"I'm sorry about your girl." Daryl said, running his thumb over her lips and then dropping his hand to take hers and lead her to the Grimes' big farm house kitchen.

* * *

"So what's the deal, Daryl? You been hanging on to that gal tighter than a set of Channelocks." Lori asked, while the "gal" in question was taking a shower.

"He ain't talkin.'" Rick said with a derisive sigh. They were setting around the kitchen table, the two men nursing coffee laced with a little Bailey's while Lori stuck to herbal tea. The woman was like a dog with a bone, trying to gnaw her way to some truth she thought Daryl was hiding.

"Told you—met her when I made a service call to her place. Ran into her today when I was with Merle at court. She had a shitty day so I bought her dinner."

"So this was your first date?" Lori smiled and raised an eyebrow as she took a sip of her tea. "Quite a dramatic finish."

"Honey—leave him be." Rick chided his wife.

"I just would like to know why when I want to fix him up with a nice sweet lil' gal he says it's too complicated to date, but tonight I catch him in my front hall macking on a woman he just met!" Lori asked petulantly. She always liked to get her way and Daryl rarely if ever cooperated. If he hadn't been Rick's best friend she might've shot him by now just for his general cussedness.

"Well, he did take her _up on the roof_ at the Big Dog." Rick said with a wicked gleam in his eye.

_"Shut up!"_ Lori exclaimed, whacking Daryl hard on the arm. "T-Dog let you?" That was an endorsement right there. No one got to go up unless the chef approved of them.

They heard Carol clear her throat and looked to see her framed by the doorway leading down the hall to the bathroom. She was wearing a big fluffy pink bathrobe that was Lori's when she wasn't, as she put it, 'as big as a house,' over a man's t-shirt she'd found in one of the dresser drawers in the guestroom, also known as Uncle Daryl's room. Lori had laid out pajamas for her, but she didn't like sleeping with any sort of pants on, they made her feel restricted.

Daryl saw her short hair was still damp and fluffed in curls around her face and neck and her cheeks were pink and warm from the hot shower. His heart thudded in his chest as he saw the collar and top of the logo of one his old t-shirts through the V of the neckline of the robe. _His_ shirt was covering her naked body; next to her skin...he blushed, which was noted by everyone in the room.

"Well, I feel a bit more human now." Carol said with a small smile. "I really can't thank you enough for letting me stay here." she addressed both Lori and Rick.

"Come—sit—let me get you something to eat." Lori offered. "I have some praline cookies." Daryl caught Carol's eye and gave her a tiny look of panic and a negative shake of his head.

"No, I'm fine really! We had a huge fantastic dinner." Carol demurred. "What I'd like more than anything is to get some rest." she added wearily, knowing how much she had to do tomorrow.

At that Daryl stood and went to her, but then turned back to Rick.

"You'll come get me for my watch shift, right?" Daryl asked and Rick nodded yes.

"Sleep well, Carol." Rick said.

"Goodnight Carol." Lori said, and then added archly, "Night Daryl."

Daryl grunted in reply and pushed Carol gently back down the hallway towards the guestroom.

"That man _likes_ complicated." Lori said quietly, nodding her head at his retreating back and Rick nodded in agreement.

* * *

Carol wasn't sure what to think when Daryl followed her. Was he coming to kiss her goodnight? Just walk her to the door? When he pushed the door open and came inside behind her, she found herself feeling hot, flushed, flustered. He closed the door and then went over to the big antique four poster bed and pulled down the quilt and sheets, opening it and smoothing the covers back. Then he grabbed one of the pillows off of it and carried it to the big recliner in the corner in front of the flat screen TV hanging on the wall with an X-Box hooked up to it. A big black crossbow had been placed on the floor by the side of the chair alongside a wicked looking buck knife. Daryl pulled the Atlanta Braves blanket off of the back of the chair and settled in, propping his head up on the pillow and drawing the blanket over him.

"Night." was all he said and then he closed his eyes.

Carol stood in the middle of the room, staring at him, nonplussed. Sighing, she took off her robe and climbed into the bed, unaware that he watched her the whole time through half open eyes.

* * *

After flushing the toilet, Carol had just turned the water on to wash her hands when the bathroom door flew open. Daryl stood there, the big buck knife in his right hand, his hair sticking up at all angles, looking terrified.

_"You can't just wander off alone! Next time you tell me where the hell you're goin!"_ Daryl said in a fierce whisper.

"So you're the hall monitor now?" Carol said in a bored whisper. "You were asleep, I had to pee. I don't know I needed your permission." she said curtly. "You _snore_ by the way." she added, rinsing and drying her hands.

"God_ damn_ it Carol! I'm tryin' to keep you safe. You can't go wandering around a strange house alone in the dark." Daryl admonished her, trying to stress how important he felt it was that he be with her at all times.

"I _know_ where the bathroom is, Daryl. You're treating me like an imbecile. I lost my _daughter_ I didn't lose my _mind._" Carol said angrily, tossing down the hand towel and pushing around him to return to the room.

_Shit,_ Daryl sighed as he followed her down the hall. All he was trying to do was protect her and he'd made her feel exactly the same way her husband had this morning.

He watched her stiff movements as she climbed back into bed, inadvertently flashing him a bit of thigh when the t-shirt rode up. She pulled the covers over herself and turned away from him. He closed the door behind him and turned off the light, staring at her angry back in the glow from the farm yard light outside the window.

Deciding something, he approached the bed and slid in behind her, on top of the covers, still fully dressed but for his shoes. Carol startled and pulled away; turning so she could look back at him, wide eyed.

"I'm sorry." Daryl said, "But I need to know where you are—just gonna hold you—so you can sleep n' then I'll be ok."

_"Daryl..."_ Carol said with an edge of fear, "I'm not ready for—"

"Just sleep." Daryl promised.

Carol looked deeply into his eyes and then slowly nodded, laying down with her back to him. Daryl draped his right arm over her waist and flung the left up above her head on the pillow.

When Rick came to wake Daryl for his watch shift an hour later he found them like that, Carol snuggled back against his chest, Daryl sleeping soundly, his face buried in her short hair. Rick quietly closed the door and went to the kitchen to grab another cup of coffee before he took the extra shift.

* * *

The next morning after Lori had left for work and Carl for school, Rick, Daryl and Carol were in the kitchen having breakfast. Carol was cooking, feeling obligated to contribute something to the household of which she had temporarily become a part. The two men rhapsodized about her eggs and it was then that they told her that as much as they loved Lori she was hopeless as a cook, which was why Daryl had warned Carol off the infamous pralines the night before, claiming he had actually chipped a tooth on one once.

"And her pancakes—_oh Lord_—I don't know it was possible to screw up pancakes so bad!" Rick said, laughing, leaning against the counter by the sink.

"Trick is to let them bubble up just enough in the middle before you flip them—" Carol began and Daryl and Rick exchanged a hungry look.

"You can cook _pancakes_?" Daryl said slowly.

"Of course—it's not that hard!" Carol laughed.

_ "Marry me?"_ joked Rick and Carol tossed the kitchen towel she had draped over her shoulder at him.

Just then Shane came in through the kitchen door to the outside, disrupting their light mood with his grim expression. He was wearing his uniform and held his big Stetson hat in his hands.

"Just got a call from Jacqui in dispatch givin' us a heads up." Shane said, working to keep his voice even. "There's an APB just been issued for Daryl on suspected arson charges at the Horvath house. The Fire Marshal found that the fire had been rigged using paper from a SPS note pad with his fingerprints all over it stuffed in a toaster and his ball cap was found at the scene, caught in the bushes under the fire escape to the attic apartment."

"Man, that's bullshit!" Daryl cried, running his right hand through his hair, pulling it back off of his forehead. "You know this is a frame up, right?"

"Of course, but that don't mean we can just let you go." Shane said, pulling out his handcuffs. "I'm sorry Daryl, but we gotta take you in...better if it's us and not none of Blake's bunch." Some of the more hard line right wingers on the force were staunch supporters of the wealthy lawyer's bid for Mayor of the county seat.

"How would they even know those things _came_ from Daryl?" Carol asked; it didn't make any sense to her. "Why would they care?"

"They were watching the apartment, had it bugged—maybe even cameras rigged is my best guess." Rick said slowly, trying to work it all out in his head. Carol blushed as she remembered her and Daryl's conversation that day, the purple sex toy he'd fished out of the drain...

"I just don't understand what's going on here." Carol said in bewilderment. "I mean Ed's nuts, but to go to all of this trouble...all of this expense just to get me back—it doesn't make sense..."

"Money, sex or kids." Shane repeated his earlier statement.

"We need to get Andrea on this—who's that PI she uses? The Asian kid?" Rick asked.

"Glenn Rhee—he's Korean." Daryl said. "We did some work for his dad's restaurant in Woodbury." Daryl liked Glenn—he was a smart ass, but damn clever and a good man.

"Right." Rick nodded then looked over at Daryl with a sigh of resignation. Daryl shook his head and scowled, but put his arms behind his back so Shane could cuff him.

"Do you have to?" Carol said, sounding frightened. All of this was _her_ fault—if something happened to Daryl she'd never forgive herself.

"Regulations." Shane told her.

"Andrea will have him out on bail before noon—he'll be fine." Rick assured her, but exchanged a worried look with Shane. Things could happen in lock up; bad things. Shane shook his head, pursing his lips in anger and dropped the last shoe.

"Arson's a state statute—we're supposed to transport him up to West Georgia Correctional, _not _County." Shane said and Daryl hung his head and swore.

_"Fuck."_ Rick said.

"What's that mean?" Carol said, really frightened by the looks on all of their faces.

"It means we have to take Daryl to the State Maximum Security Prison. That's the holding facility for this kind of crime." Rick explained.

"And it's one of the roughest joints the state—Max means murder, rape..." Shane said, looking like he wanted to spit.

"Shut up asshole, yer scarin' her." Daryl said to Shane, and then put a calm face on to talk to Carol, "I can handle myself, sweetheart, I know these kind of guys—I grew up around these kind of guys." he said darkly and Rick grimaced. "One good show of force to put'em in their place and I'll be fine."

"Call Andrea—right now, Carol—are you listening?" Rick said earnestly. "She might be able to file a motion to get him in protective custody or something." He handed Carol his cell phone and she searched for her wallet with the lawyer's card inside.

Rick looked back over at Daryl as if he just thought of something.

"Do you want us to let Merle know?" Rick asked and Daryl sighed, unsure what good that would do until he realized that his brother probably knew just as many people _in_ the joint as out. He started to grin.

"Guess I'll make _that_ my one phone call. Who knows, with Merle's friends behind me I might just be safer _behind_ those fences than out here."

* * *

_**Yep, Daryl's going back to the prison. **_

_**Making Lori and Shane step-siblings was a way to shorthand his strong concern for her and involvement in their lives without Rick's supposed death.**_

_**I loved the idea of clever Glenn as a really spectacular PI, sort of in the vein of Kalinda on "The Good Wife" if any of you watch that show.**_

_**And yes, Lori works as a receptionist in Hershel's Veterinary practice.**_

_**Thank you so much for all the thoughtful reviews! Welcome new followers and favorites!**_


	5. Chapter 5: The Plumber

_**Daryl and Caryl try to come to terms with their respective dangerous situations and we finally learn the circumstances surrounding Sophia's death.**_

* * *

_**The Plumber**_

"I am given to understand that you are a plumber, Mr. Dixon?" the well spoken African American man with the deep voice, sitting behind the big mahogany desk said. "As in the literal sense, not the Watergate one?"

"Yes sir." Daryl said respectfully.

"Excellent." the big man nodded. "I am also told that you had a bit of a problem on the yard this morning, is that also true?"

"Problem sir? No, not that I can recall."

"The infirmary physician who stitched up your side tells me a different story." the deep voice rumbled a bit more ominously. "The shiv with your blood on it provides an apt illustration for the tale as well."

Daryl's eye twitched. The wound in his side, a through and through that had slipped past the meat of the muscle right between hip and waist on his left side still hurt like a son of a bitch. Contrary to the special injunction remanding him to protective isolation that Andrea had been able to push through with a friendly judge, Daryl had been sent to the yard this morning with the general prison population. He'd been cornered by some pony tailed Hispanic mother fucker tauntingly asking him if he had any matches and a sneaky little black bastard had come up beside him and caught a piece of him with a toothbrush sharpened to a lethal point.

"Don't want any trouble sir." Daryl said quietly, shifting slightly, uncomfortably, in his chair, rattling the chains between his hand and leg cuffs. He was no snitch.

"Now see, that _is_ a problem for us because it seems to follow you around like a dark cloud, son." the man said solemnly. He opened a file sitting on the desk in front of him. "In addition to these latest arson charges, I got a Dixon B&E, small time dealing, drunk and disorderly, time spent in several stockades during military service with a less than honorable—"

"Excuse me sir, but that's not_ my_ record—that's my brother, Merle." Daryl interrupted. The warden frowned and flipped through to the mug shots hidden at the back of the sheaf of papers.

"And so it is. My apologies. It seems I have been misinformed." he looked troubled, "But you _are _a plumber as well?"

"Yes sir." Daryl said and the warden nodded, in deep thought.

The warden leaned forward and pushed a button on the old fashioned intercom system on his desk.

"Donna—get in here_, now_, please."

"Is there a problem, Warden Williams?" a woman's nasal voice said, sounding slightly annoyed.

"_Now,_ Donna."

The intercom clicked off and the Warden sat back in his seat looking speculatively at Daryl. Something didn't gel here, and if 'it don't gel it ain't aspic...' He stood and swiftly moved to open the outer door and Daryl turned back to see the weasely looking white guard who had brought him in leaning heavily on the desk of the secretary and looking sour faced to have his flirting interrupted. The brunette secretary, Donna, looked surprised and then embarrassed and quickly stood, pulling at her skirt and smoothing it nervously.

"Allen, go back to your block, I'll deal with you later." The Warden said to the guard in a stiff voice that showed his disapproval of the fraternization.

"I'm supposed to escort the prisoner back to his cell when he's done here." The guard said with a whining tone, still not standing, as one would've expected.

_"Sir."_ the warden rumbled and Allen frowned at him. "I'm supposed to escort the prisoner back to his cell when he's done here, _sir._ Now get your ass off that desk and get back to your post."

The surly guard reluctantly stood and adopted a blank expression.

"Yes, _sir._" he said, but as he turned to go he clearly muttered under his breath, "_uppity nigger warden."_ and Donna gasped.

"Allen," the Warden said in a deceptively mild voice and the other man stopped without turning around.

"Sir?" he said insolently.

"Make sure you turn in all your keys and ID as you leave today when you stop by the Personnel Office to fill out your severance forms. You're fired." Allen whipped around to face the Warden.

"You can't do that! I got 12 years in—I'm Union!" Allen said, furious.

"File a grievance. But if I see you on prison grounds past 5 p.m. today I'll have you up on trespassing. Now get out."

"You ain't heard the last of this!" the guard seethed, fingering his long riot baton, obviously itching to use it.

"I don't imagine I have, but I've heard enough from _you_ today. Get out." the warden said blandly and then turned to Donna. Grunting angrily, the guard slammed out of the office.

"Now Donna, I'd like you to explain how I came to be in possession of the wrong file and ID on Mr. Dixon here, Mr. _Daryl_ Dixon, before you join Allen in the Personnel Office for _your _exit interview." he said smoothly. "And then we'll see about getting him some plumbing equipment so he can sort out why my damn toilet keeps backing up."

Daryl looked back at the brand new shiny name plate on the warden's desk which read, _Warden Tyreese Williams,_ at the big aloe plant that still had a "Congratulations on your Promotion" card stuck in the soil at its base and thought that this was a man he could work with.

* * *

"Is he all right? Can I see him?" Carol said anxiously and Andrea exchanged a look with her P.I., Glenn Rhee, who she had called in from Woodbury to meet with them this afternoon.

"As I understand it he was very lucky and it was only a flesh wound—it missed any major organs." Andrea said carefully. She was upset as well, but tried not to show Carol how much so. The court order should've prevented this, and the fact that it hadn't meant that perhaps things were not under the control of the new Warden at West Georgia. His appointment had not been without controversy, even in this day and age. The previous warden had been the target of a corruption investigation involving one of the more insidious white supremacist gangs in the south and had recently been ousted, so the Governor had brought in an outsider to run the Max.

"Daryl's as tough as they come." Glenn reassured her, "I once saw him get knocked down a set of basement stairs and shake it off like it was nothing." He didn't tell her that it was his own brother who had left the toolbox in the middle of the stairs as a 'joke' on the job site when he knew Daryl was coming down carrying a roll of insulation which obscured his view. Fortunately Daryl had suffered only bruises; the insulation had cushioned his fall or he could've been badly injured.

"I don't understand why this is all happening. Daryl has done _nothing_ wrong..."

"Except try to help _you..._" Andrea mused and Carol flashed her a look of pain, knowing very well that Daryl would be home and safe if they'd never met. "But that's water under the proverbial bridge." she looked over at Glenn who seemed bursting to speak. "What have you found out about the other actors in our little domestic drama, Glenn?"

The handsome young Korean opened his messenger bag and pulled out an expensive looking tablet computer and started fiddling with it.

"Mrs. Carolina Rose Peletier, nee Mason, born October 11, 1978, in Wiltshire, Virginia to Adam and Cissy Mason, graduated from Wiltshire High, Class of 1995, then three semesters at Georgia Tech, _go Yellow Jackets_, married fellow student Edwin Maurice Peletier, January 1, 1997; daughter, Sophia Rose, born 2001, deceased—"

_"Enough!" _Carol said heatedly. "Why are you investigating _me_? I thought we were trying to find out what Ed is involved in!"

"Trust but verify." Glenn said succinctly. "I needed to know that you were on the level before I took your case. S.O.P."

"Standard Operation Procedure." Andrea explained when she saw Carol's look of confusion.

"Look, I know this is hard, but I need you to tell me exactly what happened the day your daughter died—all it says in the record is hit and run." Glenn said, clearly frustrated. "I can't access the eyewitness accounts, the police reports, nothing—it's like they don't exist."

Carol sucked in a deep breath and held her hand to her abdomen as if someone had just stabbed her in the gut—as if what had happened to Daryl today was happening to her.

"We need to have you run through it before you meet with the psychiatrists as well, Carol." Andrea said compassionately.

"Psychiatrist_s_?" Carol said, looking at Andrea in confusion.

"One of theirs, one of ours." Andrea nodded. "We both get to have an expert witness examine you before the competency hearing next week."

Carol slumped back in her chair. She had almost forgotten about the hearing—that's how complicated her life had become in the last 48 hours. Sighing, she looked over at the expectant faces of Andrea and Glenn, knowing that they were trying to help her, but dreading reliving her worst nightmare, the one that woke her very night, that kept her from wanting to even _try _to sleep. What she'd told Daryl the night before, when he'd been awoken by her cries in her sleep, came back to her now.

* * *

"Carol? Carol sweetheart? It's ok—you're ok." Daryl said helplessly, hoping he was doing the right thing by trying to wake her. Was it only sleep _walkers_ you weren't supposed to wake?

This seemed like a night terror of some sort...She had rolled to her back and was struggling with the sheet and quilt over her and then he saw her mouth open and her face scrunch up and she seemed to scream, almost silently, a name, _Sophia_ and her eyes flew open, looking up at his face hovering over her anxiously and she scrambled back away from him, almost falling off of the bed.

"_Where?_ Where am I?" she asked, still caught in that fuzzy half awake half asleep state.

"You're safe." Daryl told her quietly.

"Daryl?" she said, squinting at him, "Why are _you_ in my bed? Is this a dream?"

Daryl worked at holding back his grin to think that she thought having him in her bed was cause for dreamin'. Then she shook her head at him.

"No—if it was a dream you wouldn't still have your clothes on," she muttered, yawning, but then her eyes went wide and she covered her mouth with her hand, blushing at what she'd said. _"Did I just say that out loud?" _

Daryl nodded and this time the grin dimpled one cheek before he could stop it, but then he knew he had to inject a dose of reality to the situation or he'd be tempted to start fulfilling her dreams about him...

"At the Grimes' place, remember? The fire?" he said patiently. "You were having a bad dream—said a name—"

_"Sophia."_ Carol said, her expression falling, coming almost fully awake now, realizing that she'd been having her usual nightmare, reliving the last day of her daughter's life.

"That was your girl." Daryl said softly and Carol nodded, wiping her cheeks of the tears she'd shed in her dream.

"I wasn't supposed to be there." Carol said, making sure that the covers were pulled up over her lap before she sat crossed legged, facing him, deciding that she needed to talk, for some reason trusting him to just listen.

Daryl leaned against the head board and nodded, silently telling her to go on.

"I wanted to go back to school, now that she was old enough to not need a sitter when I wasn't there. I was at the college, getting the application forms, meeting with admissions, checking into costs—to see if I had saved enough—and...and I told Ed I was going out of town to visit my college roommate."

She hadn't told Ed what she was really doing, didn't want him to stop her. She wanted to go back and finish her nursing degree or maybe try teaching, something where she could be useful and help other people. She'd finished early and had decided to go home instead of wasting money on a hotel as she'd originally planned.

"There were other cars in the driveway so I had to park across the street. I had just gotten out of my Jeep when the front door opened and Sophia came running out...racing across the lawn, yelling "Mommy!" and crying like I'd been gone for a month. She didn't see...I didn't see—I was only looking at _her!_" Carol's eyes were focused on what she saw in her mind's eye, her girl running towards her in a blind panic, Ed coming out of the house behind her, yelling her name, the truck moving much too fast on an urban street, no sound of brakes, only a soft _thump_ and a burst of engine noise as the truck sped away. She couldn't even tell the investigating officer what color it had been, let alone the make or model or license plate—all...all she saw was Sophia flying through the air with a look of shock on her face, the second harder _thump_ as she landed, her head on her neck at an angle that was all wrong, her body twisted and broken, blood coming from her mouth...her ears...her nose...

"Carol?" Andrea said, drawing her back to the present, forcing her to participate in it as if she wasn't still living in that moment, forever trapped in that bubble of time when her daughter cried out for her so desperately, wishing she'd been a minute sooner or a minute later so the broken dead thing on the pavement was instead her warm breathing baby held tightly in her arms.

Daryl had understood. Daryl knew what it was to live with guilt so overwhelming that you spent the rest of your life taking your punishment for it. Letting those you had wronged, those you had robbed of their loved one use you to take out their frustrations, beat you, and abuse you...because you deserved it.

Ed had waited until after the funeral, when they were finally alone again. After all of his business associates, Sophia's classmates and teachers, the well-meaning but superficial church ladies and Carol's few true friends had left. And then he made her pay for taking his daughter away from him.

But then Carol proved herself stronger than Daryl.

The next morning, after Ed went off to work as though nothing had happened, though she could barely walk and had put her own dislocated shoulder back in, Carol left him. She'd found out later that she also had bruised kidneys and three broken ribs. When she'd shown up for her first job interview three days later in another small Georgia town, in her little brown suit, she had passed out at the end when she'd gotten up too quickly. Ironically it was for a job as a receptionist at a women's shelter and with their help she was able to get back on her feet until Ed found her the first time.

The last six months had been a nightmare of trying to stay one step ahead of his detectives. She'd used all of the money she'd saved for college and had been at the end of her rope when he'd shown up at the Real Estate office.

And then she'd met Daryl.

Last night he'd listened as she'd told the entire story for the first time, at one point, when she'd described her injuries, taking her hand in commiseration. Then when she finished, spent and exhausted, he'd held her again, this time face to face, her head against his chest, lulled back to sleep by the steady beat of his heart.

As she repeated the story to Andrea and Glenn, who took notes on his tablet, she found it was easier the second time and she could even try to answer the many questions that they had for her about the details.

"So why was the driveway full of cars?" Glenn asked.

"What?"

"You said you had to park across the street because the driveway was full of cars—what were they doing there?" Glenn probed.

"Ed said it was a business meeting...I don't know..."

"Did he often conduct business at home?" Andrea asked.

"No—I don't know—I guess not. He has an office..."

"What exactly is his business—as you understand it?" Glenn asked.

"It's a packaging company—they take orders on online and telephone for things like romance or mystery novel series or DVDs and put them together to ship to people." Carol had briefly worked in the office there before Sophia was born and Ed had wanted her to stay home and be a full time house wife and mother.

"Carol would it surprise you to know that Ed's company is in the process of being sold to a subsidiary of Phillip Blake's?" Andrea asked, looking closely at Carol to see her response.

"His _lawyer_?" Carol asked, surprised.

"Yes, and for several million dollars." Glenn added.

"Several _million?"_ Carol slumped back in her chair, shocked. They had lived fairly well, but she'd been on a tight budget for their entire marriage, a fact which had made the little nest egg she'd accumulated even more miraculous.

"Had you ever met Phillip Blake before yesterday at the Court House?" Andrea asked.

"No—never."

"So you don't remember him being at your house the day your daughter was killed?" Glenn asked.

_"What?"_

"I was able to get access to the feed from the traffic camera a block from your house—don't ask how—from the day of the accident." Glenn said, turning his tablet around so she and Andrea could see it, "A truck with a dented side front fender ran a red going 60 less than three minutes after your daughter was hit. No citation was ever issued. The make, model and license of the truck match one owned by Utopia Enterprises, one of Blake's companies..."

"The police never told us any of this!" Carol said, staring at the screen.

"As I said, no citation was issued, no report filed, and this vid was about as hard to find as King Tut's tomb." Glenn said. "I can't make out the face, the sun visor obscures it, but if we zoom in on the driver's right hand," which he did, "That's a pretty distinctive ring."

Carol reeled back, her mouth coming open in shock and dismay.

"I know that ring. It's a fraternity ring. My husband has one exactly like it." but she knew Ed hadn't been driving that truck...

"Phillip Blake and your husband both belonged to the Τ Ψ Δ, (Tau Psi Delta) House, though at two different schools. It seems that there was some sort of fraternity alumni meeting going on at your home that day." Glenn said, pulling up the chapter portraits from each school.

"Was Blake the one driving the truck?" Carol asked in a clipped voice, quiet fury showing on her face. "Was _he _the one who killed my daughter?"

"We don't know...but if he was, that might explain why Ed is so hot to get you back in his control...you're the only witness who wasn't part of his little fraternity meeting." Andrea told her.

"But I told you—I didn't see _anything."_ Carol said angrily, wishing she _had_, wishing she could pin the son of a bitch to the wall...

"No, you saw it _all_ Carol—you just don't _remember_ it. I think you have traumatic amnesia." Andrea said gently.

"And his psychiatrist is going to try to see if he can recover those memories..." Glenn said, knowing that if he did, Carol was a dead woman.

"But I don't understand? Why would Ed protect the man who _killed _our daughter?" Carol asked, bewildered.

"I can think of several _million_ reasons." Glenn said with a sad smile.

_"Money, sex or kids..."_ Carol murmured, finally understanding. Shane had called it.

* * *

_**Six months earlier**_

"You know, being a plumber is a lot like being a detective." Glenn said, handing Daryl the length of copper pipe.

"That so?" Daryl drawled, wondering how he'd drawn the short straw and ended up with the Boss's smart ass kid who was about to talk his ear off. The full copper re-pipe of the old laundry the Rhee family was converting to a restaurant on Woodbury's main street was a lucrative contract, but because he was spending so much money on it, papa Rhee had insisted that the members of his family would be there to observe and make sure the work was done to his satisfaction.

The two sisters were up in the kitchen as the industrial dishwashers and refrigeration units were being set up, bugging the hell out of Merle, but the fact that both of them were knock outs had made it go over a little smoother when the assignments were doled out.

"Sure. You see a problem, a mystery and you investigate, track it down, and find a solution. We need hot water here, steam pipes there—what the best safest way to do that? Drains plugged, what's in there? How do you get it out? Just like detective work." Glenn grinned earnestly.

"You know I'm all right here on my own," Daryl tried one more time to dislodge the kid from his perch on the steps behind him, turning back towards him, but wincing a bit at the way that pulled his sore back. He'd taken a tumble that morning as he'd been on his way to the basement, one of Merle's pranks sending him crashing to the bottom.

"I dunno—you hit your back pretty hard there, Daryl." Glenn said with concern, and then he paused, squinting up at Daryl. "Merle always treat you shitty like that?"

"Ain't _nobody's_ bitch. Brothers just do shit like that." Daryl said with a noncommittal sigh and turned back to fit the new length of pipe into the slot.

"I've only got sisters." Glenn said with his own sigh.

"Saw 'em—seem nice enough." Daryl said, still in that noncommittal voice.

"Oh they are—you want to ask one of them out?" Glenn grinned.

"Uh _no._ I think your daddy'd take one a' them big meat cleavers to my skull if I did," Daryl snorted. No way would someone like that would stand for an ol'redneck plumber asking out his twenty something daughter. Besides, women were just more _complications._

"You're too macho for them anyhow...I'd kill for those shoulders and biceps..." Glenn said with a sigh and Daryl turned back towards him with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh, Glenn...I mean I think you're an all right guy and all but I don't—'

"What? No! No—did you think I was hittin' on you? Oh man—no! No way! I mean you're pretty hot and all, but I definitely like girls..._women..._" he said all in a rush, blushing furiously.

"Well, all right then." Daryl nodded and turned back around; lowering the protective goggles he wore perched on the crown of his head so he could solder the joints of the copper pipe. When he finished and turned back around, Glenn was gone. Daryl grinned and climbed back down off his ladder to _detect_ the next length of pipe.

* * *

_**Present Day**_

"What was your name again, kid?" Daryl asked the young trustee helping him in the prison warden's private bathroom. The kid sort of reminded him of Glenn, who he'd liked well enough to go out for a beer with after the job had been done in Woodbury last year. Merle had simply referred to him as "that Chinese kid" and had rolled his eyes when Daryl had asked him to come along. Both his daddy and Merle had a hard core of latent racism in their make-up, something Daryl had paid lip service to in his younger years when around them. Now a days he tended to follow the better example of the Grimes family, which was to give everyone a chance until they proved themselves an asshole or otherwise.

The young man had dark curly hair and big brown eyes, too pretty to be doing hard time at a Max, Daryl thought with pity. He worked in the infirmary as a trustee orderly, where Daryl had first met him, and when Daryl had asked the warden for an extra pair of hands to help with the plumbing emergency the kid had volunteered.

Daryl hoped that by this time tomorrow he'd be out of here, on his way back home. On his way back to Carol... but this kid would still be here, probably fighting for his life, literally watching his ass. Daryl sighed.

"Hey? Kid?" he prompted again and the young man came closer and knelt beside him, handing him the Channelocks wrench he'd asked for before he'd asked his name again.

"I've got a message for you." the kid said. "From your brother."

"That right?" Daryl said, narrowing his eyes and sitting up straight.

"Yeah—he says your little Carolina Wren has a hit out on her so you need to watch your ass until Blondie can get you outa here. He and Officer Friendly will keep an eye on her for you 'til then."

Daryl nodded slowly, wondering to himself exactly why someone would want to kill Carol, how Merle had gotten the message in, why the kid had been chosen to deliver it...and how in the_ holy_ _hell_ Merle and Rick were banding together to do _anything!_

"Thanks, Kid." Daryl said finally.

"Neil...Neil Gargulio." the young man said, hoping the message had meant something to Merle's brother. He didn't want on the bad side of neither Merle nor his friends...

_"_Thanks Neil." Daryl said, nodding and giving the kid a quick slap on his shoulder. "Let's get back to it. A plumber's work is never done."

* * *

**AN:**

**_During the USA Watergate scandal back in the 1970s, a secret unit was established to stop information from being leaked out of the White House. The so-called "White House Plumbers" were responsible for covert acts which included the burglary of the offices of an opponent of then President Richard Nixon. The job forever lent a second meaning to the term 'plumber'. Tyreese is asking Daryl if he is a burglar, a spy for the Governor of GA or a real plumber._**

**_A plumber is called that because originally pipes were made from lead; the Latin word for lead is plumbum_**.

**I hope you liked the Prison appearances of Tyreese, smarmy weasel Allen, Donna, and poor doomed Gargulio:) with off camera cameo from Andrew, who stabbed Daryl in the yard with help from Tomas. **

**_Mary/Anonymous reviewer asked what a "gimme cap" was from the previous chapter. In the US, many business give away baseball caps that advertise their company or brand. To ask for one, the phrase, "give me a cap" has gotten shortened to call the hats themselves a "gimme cap." _ **

**Thanks to all the favorites, followers and reviewers. Sorry I haven't been getting back to all of you individually, but the ideas are coming fast & furious for this one, so I'm just fighting to get them all down in written form before they go poof! Hope you continue to enjoy it. DD1**


	6. Chapter 6: Unacceptable Losses

_**A little bit of background on why Daryl and Rick are such good friends as everyone gathers to help he and Carol.**_

* * *

_**Unacceptable Losses **_

"So what's the big deal about going up on the roof at the Big Dog?" Carol asked Lori as the women worked to prepare dinner for Rick, Carl and their company, Andrea, her sister Amy, Glenn, Shane and of all people, Daryl's brother, Merle.

"It's where Rick kissed me the first time." Lori said, noting how Carol blushed.

"l'll take it I should assume Daryl had a similar plan when he took me up there then?" Carol asked with a small smile, remembering their first kiss.

Lori paused in stirring the big pot of spaghetti sauce. She looked at Carol, who had borrowed some of Lori's clothes for the dinner party. The pink blouse and form fitting jeans showed off the curves in her slender figure, and she'd even added a little make-up and jewelry when Lori had insisted. The bruises under her eyes had faded to more yellow than anything, and with the help of some cover stick and powder she looked almost back to normal. She really was a lovely woman.

"To be honest I don't know _what_ his plan was...I haven't ever seen Daryl act like this before... with a woman I mean." Lori admitted and Carol looked confused and stopped slicing the watermelon for dessert.

"What?"

"Honey, I've known Daryl for almost fifteen years and in all that time he's never brought anyone he's dated over here for so much as a cup of coffee." Lori said, looking Carol right in the eye. "And last night...last _night,_ he couldn't stand to be more than a few feet away from you the whole night." Lori crossed her arms over top of her big baby belly, and frowned, "You've bewitched my friend."

"I'm sorry—I know it's my fault he's in danger." Carol apologized. "Here I come slamming into all of your lives—I won't be able to forgive myself if anything I do makes you lose him..."

"You care about him, don't you?"

"Of course I do—I've never known anyone else like Daryl, he's such a good man...no one's ever...well, I've never been treated like I..."

"Like you're precious to him," Lori finished, nodding, but then she sighed, "Daryl's had a hard life; he usually takes a long time to warm up to people."

"He told me about losing his mother." Carol nodded, "And I saw his bruises...Andrea told me the way his brother treats him...his father. They blame him for it, don't they?"

"He blames _himself._" Lori said sadly. "Sometimes I think the only thing that keeps him from losing it all together is his friendship with Rick."

* * *

_**1986, Senoia, Georgia**_

"Daryl Eugene Dixon you get your ass over here right now and explain to me why Sheriff Grimes is calling me up and telling me you were in a fight with his son at school-_again_!" Daryl knew his momma was angry. She'd said a cuss word, "ass" which meant she wasn't just a little angry. She was really _seriously _angry.

"You sure look pretty today, momma." Daryl tried, handing her a new pack of cigarettes and her lighter. Merle said the ladies loved a compliment more than anything, and momma was the prettiest lady he knew.

"Don't you try doing an end run around me young man—it never works for your daddy nor your brother either." She tossed the cigarettes and lighter down on the table and motioned for him to come and stand in front of her. "Now I've had just about enough. Why did you two get in a fight this time?"

"That ass wipe was goin' around tellin' everybody that Merle is a convict!" Daryl said self righteously. If there was one thing Daryl knew, it was that you stood up for family, for blood.

_"Oh Daryl..."_ Ellie Dixon sighed. Explaining to your seven year old that his beloved older brother had been given the choice between prison and the Army for committing another crime after aging out of the juvenile justice system at 19, well, that had proven a little too hard to face.

"He ain't a convict. He's a _soldier_—gonna go fight—he's a hero!" Daryl insisted stoutly. That god damned Ricky Grimes said his daddy had arrested Merle for breakin' into the Laundromat over in Woodbury and smashin' open the coin boxes on the machines and so Merle was goin' to prison.

"That's right Daryl, Merle's in the Army...but that doesn't mean you have to get in a fight with someone for saying otherwise."

"But he's a big fat liar!" Daryl yelled, tears filling his eyes. "I hate him. I'm gonna get Daddy's gun and shoot him!"

Ellie's heart went cold. She took a strong hold of both her weeping son's upper arms and shook him until he stopped crying and stared at her stern face.

"Daryl! _Never _say anything like that again! Don't even _think_ it! Taking someone else's life is a _horrible_ thing!" Ellie pulled Daryl to her close and hugged him tightly. "Think Daryl-what would that do to his momma and daddy? If you took their son away from them? How would I survive if I _lost_ you? If anyone ever got it into their heads to do the same to you?"

"I'm sorry momma." Daryl said, shocked by how frightened his mother had sounded when he'd made the worst threat he could think of. Ellie released her son.

"I mean it Daryl—no more talk of guns or shooting people; _ever_." Daryl nodded his head in mute agreement and his mother kissed his forehead.

"But he's still an ass wipe." a surly Daryl said, pouting.

"Well, he's an ass wipe who's coming over here tomorrow so you can apologize and learn to get along." She and the Sheriff had decided the best way to solve the problems the boys seemed to have with one another was to force the issue by having them spend some time together one on one.

"Uh uh. No way. No way Ricky Grimes is comin' to _my_ house!" Daryl insisted furiously.

"He is and you will be a _polite_ host." Ellie insisted back.

"Momma?" Something suddenly occurred to Daryl.

"What Daryl?"

"What're you gonna tell daddy?" Daryl asked fearfully. He was sure to get the belt this time. He'd been warned about fighting with the Sheriff's son.

"I'm gonna tell him that you have a little friend from school coming over for a play date tomorrow; that sound about right to you?" Ellie said, ruffling her son's sun bleached dark auburn hair.

"Yes, momma." Daryl sulked, knowing she'd keep his secret if he followed her lead.

* * *

"Ever hear of the Chupacabra?" Daryl asked, deciding he'd had enough of playing trucks in the dirt pile behind the house. Rick Grimes had brought his Tonka loader and dozer and Daryl had grudgingly led him to the backyard where they had played, almost silently, pushing the dirt around, digging holes and building mounds that they then let the trucks roll down until they crashed into the others at the bottom.

"What's that? Another kinda truck?" Rick asked slowly. The taller, stockier boy with the curly brown hair and blue eyes wasn't too thrilled to be hanging out at the house of his arch enemy, but if he had to, he'd try to make the best of it. Daryl and he had been butting heads since the start of the school year when they had ended up in the same second grade classroom.

Both natural leaders, all year they had unconsciously competed for both academic and athletic honors and the allegiance of the other boys in the class. An athlete, Rick was also six months older than Daryl who was small for his age and wiry rather than muscular. Daryl had a growth spurt at 15 that had finally gotten him over six feet, but at this point in his life he was a cocky little son of a bitch always spoiling for a fight or competition, primed for both by his hero worship of Merle.

Learning about Daryl's brother Merle's crime, from overhearing his father discussing the case, had given Rick the edge he had needed to become top dog, but it was a hollow victory. He'd seen how much he'd hurt Daryl with the accusation and had regretted it ever since. When Daryl had jumped him on the last day of school, Rick had taken his licks but hadn't fought back.

"Naw. It's a monster. Lives in the woods...I'm gonna go hunt it, but yer probably scared, ain't cha _lil' Ricky_..." Daryl taunted, using the name Merle had when talking about how Daryl should deal with the other boy.

"You want to go now?" Rick said, puffing out his chest. "Let's go!" He stood up and brushed the dirt off of his shirt and pants.

"Need weapons and stuff." Daryl said and squinted at Rick with a measuring look that wouldn't be common on his face until he was much older.

"Like what?" Rick asked, his brow wrinkling. Daryl reached into his pocket and pulled out a medium sized folding buck knife with a deer horn handle that Merle had given him before he'd left for boot camp. Rick's eyes went wide. He reached in his own pocket and pulled out his smaller Swiss Army knife.

"This work?" Rick asked, canting his head to the right. Daryl nodded.

"Gonna need provisions." Daryl said. When Merle took him out into the woods they always took a sack lunch and Cokes, but he wasn't sure if his momma would be ok with the idea that they were gonna go hunt monsters... Rick pulled out 4 Slim Jim jerky sticks and Red Vines from his other pocket with a grin.

"Well, all right!" Daryl grinned back.

"What other things?" Rick asked, getting into it.

"Rope." Daryl said solemnly. "My daddy says ya always need to take a good length a rope."

* * *

They went around behind the garage, to the edge of the ravine that ran the length of the back of the Dixon property marking the border between it and the next farm. Daryl's regular path had been partially washed out by the early spring rains so they took a detour down a steeper section of the draw, circling back around to the cave where Daryl claimed to have seen the Chupacabra.

"So what's this thing supposed to look like?" Rick asked, feeling a little nervous now, knowing they weren't exactly supposed to be out in the woods by themselves. Daryl took his small penlight flash light out of his jean jacket pocket and turned it on. He wore the rope around his small body like a bandolier, crossed over his chest diagonally.

"Ugly." Daryl said quietly, pulling out his knife and opening it, locking the blade. "And mean..." He said, creeping forward. "Sucks on goats." at least that's what Merle had told him.

"It _what_?" Rick said, pulling his knife out as well and following behind Daryl.

"Sucks on goats."

"Like—like on their ears or something?"

"Nope—their _blood._" Daryl said in a harsh whisper.

"What're you gonna do with it if you find it?"

"Kill it."

"Why?"

"Coz' it's a monster and it _sucks on goats_—sheesh, ain't you been listenin'?" Daryl said impatiently.

"You got goats?"

"_No, I ain't got no goats_."

"Then why do you care?" Rick asked in puzzlement, stopping. "Seems kinda dumb to kill somethin' if it ain't bothering you." Daryl turned and looked back at the other boy, shining the light on Rick's face so he had to raise his hand to block it.

"You pussying out on me Rick _Grimes_?" Daryl taunted, walking backwards, not really sure why calling someone a cat was such an insult, but his daddy and Merle always said it to him when he acted afraid of anything.

"No!" Rick said hotly, "I just don't see wh—" and then Daryl switched off the light and Rick was in total darkness. "Hey! That's not fair—I ain't got no—" but he was cut off by Daryl's cry of terror ending in the sound of scrabbling and small rocks falling.

_"Help!"_ Daryl cried, full out panicked, and Rick slowly felt his way forward in the dark until the quality of the air changed, it was colder, with a steady up draft. His foot hit something metallic and the small flashlight was kicked out from under the pile of dirt and rocks that had come down on it when Daryl had fallen. The beam of light arced out and illuminated the top of Daryl's head and arms as he clung to the edge of the chasm that the spring rains had opened up in the cave interior. Daryl was slipping, his clawed hands finding no purchase in the soft dirt of the cave floor. He raised his head to Rick, his nose already bloodied from where it had slammed into the edge of the cliff when he'd fallen, a look of sick horror with the realization that he was probably going to die.

"Daryl!" Rick cried and ran forward, skidding to a stop just as Daryl's head disappeared. Rick leapt, slamming his body down, reaching over the edge and locking his left hand over Daryl's wrist, the other boy's entire body weight hanging on the small bones.

"Grab my hand!" Rick urged and Daryl's hand clasped Rick's wrist in turn and Rick grimaced in pain, but didn't let go. Reaching down with his other hand he felt for the coils of rope wound around Daryl's body, but that made him slide forward, closer to the edge of the cliff. Knowing he could pull the other boy over with him, Daryl started to release his hold on Rick, but Rick was having none of that.

"Don't you let go!" Rick said angrily. "I'm not losin' you or lettin' you fall!"

The fact that Daryl weighed about 15-20 pounds less than Rick was their saving grace. Pulling the rope tight around Daryl's chest and bracing his leg on the cave wall, Rick was able to slowly muscle Daryl back up over the edge of the precipice. They lay there, panting from the effort, their backs leaning against the spider web covered wall. When they had recovered enough, they shone the light over the edge of the cliff and saw the jagged rocks far below and the eerily quiet rushing water of an underground stream.

"Thanks." Daryl said, swiping a hand across his nose. It came away bloody and it hurt like hell. He'd broken it and would have a black eye by the next morning.

"Sure." Rick said, cradling his broken wrist to his body, waves of sharp pain radiating from it.

"That wasn't there before." Daryl said unnecessarily, meaning the cliff.

"Ya don't say." Rick snorted and for some reason that set both boys off and they laughed until they had tears running down their faces. Rick dug in his pocket and pulled out two Jerky sticks and two Red Vines and handed one each to Daryl.

"Told you we'd need the _fuckin' _rope." Daryl said sagely as he bit into the jerky, his near death experience emboldening him into saying Merle's favorite cuss word.

"Yep." Rick said, chewing thoughtfully on his Red Vine. He liked to do dessert first.

* * *

It wouldn't be the last time Rick saved Daryl's life, and vice versa, but it was what had begun their lifelong friendship, much to Merle's dismay. When he'd come home on leave before shipping out at the end of the summer and found that Daryl was tighter than white on rice with the sheriff's son he'd been disdainful of the friendship and had harangued Daryl about it incessantly.

"Red neck trash, that's what you are to them; they ain't yer kin, yer blood; Now you listen to me, ain't nobody gonna care about you 'cept me little brother, ain't nobody ever will." Merle paced back and forth across Daryl's room, drinking the beer he'd liberated from the fridge when their momma was out hanging his laundry on the line.

"Did you rob the Laundromat over in Woodbury, Merle?" Daryl said in a quiet but determined voice. These last 3 months he had spent a lot of time with the Grimes family and it had taught him about what kind of people they were. They were straight forward and had never lied to him. His mother and Mrs. Grimes had even gotten to be friends, though the two fathers could best be described as "cordial when necessary." Daryl's daddy used an iron hand on his sons and wife, the fact of which troubled Travis Grimes, but unless Ellie was willing to press charges, there wasn't much he could do except to provide a safe haven in his home for her and Daryl when they needed it.

"Your friend the sheriff's son tell you that? I bet you a penny and a fiddle of gold he sits in his room just makin' up lies about me." Merle scoffed.

"When did you decide goin' in the Army was so great, then? One minute you're takin' about trade school and the next thing I know you're joinin' the Army. Rick said it was that or go to prison."

"Oh and lil' Ricky knows everything?" Merle said, finishing half of the bottle in one long pull. "Shoot boy, that brat's got a damn fine imagination!"

"Rick doesn't lie." Daryl said stubbornly.

"Everybody lies little bro. _Everybody."_ Merle said, slumping on the floor, peeling the label off of the bottle.

"Momma don't." Daryl insisted.

"Ah now Daryl...shit...yer too young to understand it...but...momma's the worst liar of us all..." Merle said sadly.

* * *

The day Merle had come for Daryl, home on compassionate leave after their mother had gone up in smoke, Rick had been furious.

"He doesn't want to go, daddy!" Rick had said earnestly to his father, begging for Daryl to be allowed to remain with them.

"He's Daryl's family, Rick."

_"We're his family!" _Rick yelled and his father put his hand on the boy's shoulder to calm him.

"Not in the eyes of the law, Rick."

"_You're _the law." Rick spit out.

"I am. And that means I have certain responsibilities. Daryl has to go back with his brother now."

"It's not fair."

"No, it's not. Fair would've been if Ellie hadn't fallen asleep in bed with a lit cigarette. Fair would've been if someone had been there to save her. Fair would be Dixon being man enough to face up to his loss and take care of his son..." Travis Grimes' heated tirade wasn't helping matters and he knew it from the confused look on his eight year old son's face, but he was just as sad and angry at this turn of events as the boy.

"Daddy?"

"We'll watch out for him as best we can, Rick. I promised his momma we'd make sure he was ok, no matter what." Travis assured his son. As if she'd had a premonition of her own death, Ellie Dixon had asked he and his wife if they would care for Daryl if anything ever happened to her. Unfortunately her husband had refused to sign anything legally binding to that effect.

"Will I still get to see him?" Rick asked, worried that Merle would take Daryl somewhere far away.

"I'll make sure of that when I talk to Merle." Travis said, smiling a little. He had one up on Merle Dixon. The older brother didn't want the younger to know about the reasons he'd become a soldier.

* * *

_**Present Day, Grimes house**_

"He may be erratic but don't underestimate his loyalty to his brother." Rick said to Andrea as they sat on the big front porch and discussed how they were going to deal with Merle.

"Funny way he has of showing it." Andrea said. She wasn't thrilled about the idea of enlisting Merle in any plan to protect Daryl and Carol.

"You know Merle Dixon's not one of my favorite people by any stretch of the imagination, but as long as Daryl's in West Georgia Merle can be of help."

"That's right, Sugar tits. Don't get your panties in a bunch, now, Old Merle is ridin' to the rescue." Merle said, with a big shit eating grin, coming up onto the porch.

"I don't have much respect for a man who uses his brother as a punching bag whenever he feels the need." Andrea said hotly.

"Daryl got his licks in too," Merle said, holding up his wrist, still encased in a cast. "Done a lot of things I ain't proud of before and after our momma died," Merle said, and a look of deep sadness swept his features briefly, "Anyway hope we can get past it—let bygones be bygones..."

"Do you even know why you do the things you do? The choices you make?" Rick asked.

"Ya know something, I never know why I do the things I do, I'm a damn mystery to me, Officer Friendly." Merle shrugged, "But Daryl's blood and I ain't about to lose no more a' my blood."

"Daryl's my family too, Merle." Rick said, challenging Merle, "He's just as much my brother as yours."

Merle stared at Rick, a muscle in his cheek twitching. All these years the Grimes family had been like a cockle burr under his saddle blanket, stealing his baby brother away from him, robbing him of Daryl's full loyalty, the loyalty their daddy had always told Merle that Daryl owed them and them alone as blood.

What he saw now, when push came to shove, when Daryl was in real trouble for the first time in his life, that it was the Grimes who were gathering them all together to help his brother, not his daddy. When he'd heard that Daryl had been charged with arson, a blatant frame up, not only had their father refused to hire Daryl a lawyer, he'd told Merle it wouldn't surprise him if Daryl had set the fire that had killed his mother all those years ago.

"Then I guess that makes us brothers now too, don't it?" Merle drawled, enjoying the look of surprise that broke over both Ricky and Blondie's faces. "Now how's about you introduce me to this little gal that's got my baby bro all twisted up in knots and coolin' his heels in the Max."

* * *

**_I hope you enjoyed how I took bits and pieces of Merle's dialogue from various scenes in Seasons 2 & 3 to use in this chapter. He was a great character that I miss._**

**_It's also nice to write a version of Rick that I can like..._**

**_The photo of young Rick & Daryl that hangs in the Grimes house (described in an earlier chapter) was taken the day after the Chupacabra hunt._**

**_Red Vines are red licorice sticks._**

**_For you BDS fans: fuckin' rope; )_**

**_Thanks as always to favorites, followers and reviewers. I love to read your comments!_**

**_DD1_**


	7. Chapter 7: The Missing Man

_**The Grimes household gears up for the coming battle against the forces arrayed against Daryl and Carol, who gets a more formal introduction to Merle after Lori has a little show down with the elder Dixon brother.**_

_**Thanks for the continued interest in this story! The reviews have been so kind I'm bursting my buttons! It's taking up most of my time to write...**_

* * *

_**The Missing Man**_

"Merle? I'll be having a word." Lori said, standing in the door way to the front porch of the Grimes' home, looking sternly at the elder Dixon brother.

"Well, hey there Mamacita! You look like you're about to pop...looks like lil' Ricky knows his way around a woman after all." Merle grinned and cackled. "And all this time I thought he was sweet on my little bro."

"You're just _such_ a people person, aren't you Merle?" Andrea said dryly with a roll of her eyes as Rick bristled.

"Just joshing with ya, there Sheriff. Don't mean no harm." Merle said placatingly, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Dumb ass," Rick muttered, and shook his head at the other man.

"Come in Merle. I'd like to talk to you before you meet Carol." Lori repeated her request. When Rick and Andrea made to follow, Lori looked pointedly at them. "Alone."

"Lori, I'm not sure that's such a—" Rick began.

"We have to trust him sometime, don't we?" Lori said, and grudgingly, Rick nodded. "We'll just be in the foyer." Lori added and turned back and went into the front hallway. Merle followed her, with a bit of trepidation. It was never a good sign when some female wanted to corner him.

As he walked into the entrance hall of the old farm house Merle saw that the entire wall in front of him was covered, almost floor to ceiling by framed photographs and other mementoes. Some, old and black and white, were obviously from the earlier generations of the Grimes family who had occupied this place, but about half way in he began to see photos that included his brother. There he was as a little kid with Rick sitting on a porch, at the community pool, and on Christmas morning in front of a tree, proudly holding up a bow and several bolts. A framed newspaper clipping of Daryl scowling for the camera, posed behind a trophy almost as tall as he was, again holding a bow, with the headline, _Senoia Native Dixon State Champion_, and then the photos from Rick and Lori's wedding that Carol had so enjoyed.

Merle knew that the only photo of Daryl displayed in his or his father's home was the church portrait taken the year before their momma died, with Ellie and Tom just barely smiling in the back, standing behind a surly looking 18 year old Merle, his shaggy bangs almost obscuring his eyes, and a happily smiling oh so innocent seven year old Daryl, his red blonde hair carefully spit combed off of his forehead, his big blue eyes shining brightly.

"Are you with us, Merle?" Lori asked, watching the man in front of her carefully.

"I'm here." Merle responded, still perusing the pictures, frowning at one of Daryl carefully holding and bottle feeding a baby cradled in his arms and smiling shyly.

"I don't mean physically occupying the same space, I mean are you _with_ us? For Daryl." Lori asked.

"You gotta thing fer him or somthin'?" Merle said, raising an eyebrow and looking back at her.

"Got to hell Merle." Lori bit out, leaning on the wall and putting her arms across her chest defensively.

"You ain't no shrinking violet, are you sunshine?" Merle drawled appreciatively, looking her up and down, noting her fiercely protective stance.

"Daryl is like a brother to me." Lori said evenly.

"Well hell, that boy's got more family around here than he knows what to do with now don't he_? Shit."_ Merle said. "Sides, I thought you already had a brother—that other county Mountie? One that always eyeballs me like the rest a' you people...like he thinks I'm the devil or somethin'..."

"Are you?" Lori asked, tilting her head to the side. She said it with such real curiosity it made Merle pause.

"Suppose I have been...at least a few times in my sorted existence..." he thought back on his many early brushes with the law, how Travis Grimes had spoken to the judge and gotten him the plea deal that kept him from prison, how much he really owed this family for making sure Daryl survived their daddy all those years when he'd been gone, lost in his own grief and guilt that he hadn't been there to protect his mother, turning to drink, drugs, women, brawling-whatever would dull his pain.

"But I'm turning over a new leaf, sunshine. Here to help." Merle nodded in his most sincere voice.

"Guess you're a late bloomer then." Lori snorted.

"Suppose I am." Merle agreed with a contemplative head nod.

"Lori? Do you want the salad tossed with the dressing or—_oh_!" Carol said, stopping short when she saw Daryl's brother. She'd been coming from the kitchen into the foyer towards the front porch where she knew Lori had been headed.

"Carol, this is Merle Dixon; Merle, Carol Peletier." Lori said formally.

"My my, the little Carolina Wren done shed her brown weeds!" Merle said appreciatively, taking her hand and giving her the same once over he'd given Lori and Andrea, he just couldn't help himself. "We were not so formally introduced the other day and I must admit I wasn't sure what had gotten into Derle when he hung around waitin' for you, but that boy's a better talent scout than I give him credit for...you are one fine piece of—"

"Merle!" Lori chastised as Carol blushed and pulled her hand from Merle's.

"Don't tell me you can't take a compliment, sugar!" Merle admonished, giving them both a hang dog expression. "Just sayin' you're quite a lady. I can see why Derle's got his knickers in a twist over you, that's all."

"Thank you...I guess..." Carol said frowning slightly, not quite sure what to make of this cruder version of Daryl. She'd found it was often like that when she met the sibling of one of her friends, there were enough similarities to see the blood ties, but it was as if the brother or sister was an imperfect copy of the original.

The crunch of the tires on gravel signaled the arrival of another car.

"Lori?" Rick called from out on the porch. "Dinner about ready? Glenn and Amy are here."

Lori, Carol and Merle went back out onto the porch.

"Are we still waiting on Shane?" Lori asked, watching the pretty blonde and the young PI get out of the car, chatting amiably, and come up the front side walk.

"Sent him on a little errand—we can start without him." Andrea said with a secretive smile.

"Ok—go get Carl out of the barn, will you?" Lori asked Rick, "Tell him he can bring the kitten in with him." As part of her job at the veterinary Clinic, Lori periodically brought home orphaned animals that needed round the clock care. This time it had been a small black kitten whose mother had lived just long enough to give birth after being hit by a car two weeks ago. It needed to be bottle fed every three hours and today Carl had been sharing the responsibility. When he wasn't at school, he carried the tiny thing around in a pouch next to his belly to keep it warm, preferring that to the heating pad placed in its kennel. Tonight his attention had been diverted by the fact that his horse, Flame, was due to foal any day now and so he'd been down at the barn checking on her.

"Yes m'am." Rick said with a salute and went down off of the porch, greeting Amy and Glenn as they came up.

Another car pulled into the driveway just then and two more unexpected guests arrived. They all looked down the road and saw it was followed by a third car. Rick stopped and looked back at Merle, Andrea and Lori, the worry clear on his face.

* * *

"Dixon! Dinner!" the guard barked the name and Daryl stretched as he got up off the bunk where he'd been laying down reading some god awful novel that had been left in the cell, called _The Missing Man_.

The low rectangular slot in the steel door of his solitary cell clanged open and a covered tray was shoved through. The entire thing was sealed in plastic with a tamper proof seal, in case one of the guards had been tempted to add any extra "seasoning" to his meal. He'd been given a paper cup when they'd locked him in here and after thanking the guard and taking the food, he went to the small sink and filled it.

Daryl wondered what was happening back in Senoia, hoping that Carol was doing ok without him there to look out for her, and then he chided himself. She'd lived the last however many years without his redneck ass hangin' all over her, but then his better angel reminded him that in the process she'd gotten hitched to an abusive lout and watched her child mowed down in front of her; the woman needed some watching over. He felt guilty he wasn't there to do it.

He knew Rick, Lori and Andrea would do right by her, just as he trusted them to get him out of this place. He was glad he had such friends...family...that he could count on. That big brother Merle, MIA from his life in any meaningful way for so long, despite the fact that they lived together, was the one responsible for his continued safety here at the prison had come as something of a surprise.

After he'd put the warden's toilet to rights, he'd next been taken to the prison laundry by Gargulio, where he'd been introduced to three others who promised to run interference for him with those who were attempting to fulfill a hit put out on him.

"This is Axel, Big Tiny and Oscar." Gargulio introduced the other men. "Axel was in the service with Merle, Big Tiny is his cell mate and Oscar is mine."

Daryl smirked as he shook all of their hands. He wondered if Merle knew that half of his protection squad was African American.

* * *

"How are we doin' tonight, Sheriff?" the burly Africa American man said jovially to Rick as he stepped out of the big Dodge Ram pick-up catering truck now parked in the Grimes driveway, the bulldog with a chef's hat logo prominently displayed on the side.

"What can I do for you T-Dog?" Rick said, holding out his hand for the other man to shake.

"I heard that our friend Daryl and his new lady are having some trouble, just thought we'd stop by and see if there was anything we could do." T-Dog said. Climbing down from the passenger side, T's wife Jacqui, the police dispatcher, smiled over at Rick and he shook his head at her.

"Same reason we swung by—good to see you again, Rick, T, m'am." The driver of the second vehicle, an older model red Suburban with magnetic signs on the sides reading 'Greene Farms Veterinary Clinic', nodded at the others. The white haired, bearded older man smiled benignly as he came forward to shake Rick's hand as well. From the passenger's side, a pretty brunette alighted and from the back seat a blonde and a younger man also joined them.

"Maggie, Bethie, Jimmy." Rick said with a puzzled look.

"Hey Rick—Lori said Daryl was in hot water—Otis is on call so we came on over." Maggie said with concern.

"Guess we're all about the missing man." Jacqui said, with a look of concern. "Any news on Daryl?" she asked.

Rick looked back to the porch, meeting Andrea's eyes. The lawyer took out her cell phone and made a show of dialing as she went back into the relative quiet of the house to talk.

"Not yet, but why doesn't everyone come on in—" he began, looking helplessly at Lori.

"We have plenty." Lori nodded, "I can throw some more spaghetti in the pot."

"No need." T-dog grinned widely. "Give me a hand Jimmy? Rick? Glenn? Brought some supplies." T-Dog lifted, slid up and opened the doors on the side of his catering van and pulled out several steaming tin foil covered trays.

"Is that what I think it is?" Glenn asked, his eyes going wide. Carol too, felt her mouth begin to water at the thought of more fare from the Big Dog. Glenn hopped over the railing of the porch and made a bee-line for T, grabbing him up in a bear hug. "Oh man, you're the best!" he said happily.

Lori looked a little disgruntled that her spaghetti was being superseded by the best of the Big Dog, but realized there was really no way she could've fed all of these people.

* * *

The flurry of introductions, setting up of more tables and chairs and the general good humor of all were a revelation to Carol. Here was a whole community of people concerned about Daryl and by extension her. She hadn't really let herself realize how isolated Ed had made her and Sophia during her marriage, but seeing all of the people assembled here brought tears to her eyes.

"You ok, Mizz Carol?" a young voice asked with concern and Carol looked down into the pale freckled face of Carl Grimes. Carol sniffed a little and nodded her head yes, putting her hand on the boy's shoulder

"I'm fine, Carl. Just not used to being around so many people, I guess."

"You wanna see my kitten?"

"Sure—let's go out on the porch swing—quieter there, ok?"

"Sure," Carl said and led the way. They sat side by side and Carl carefully unbuttoned and removed his flannel shirt to show her the soft baby blanket that had been repurposed as a sling to hold the kitten. He lifted it off over his shoulder and opened it so she could see the small black fuzz ball, its eyes still closed.

"Are you all cozy in there?" Carol said in a silly little baby talk voice, running her index finger over the baby cat's head.

"What's her name?" Carol asked looking up at Carl who was smiling.

"I don't know...maybe Cinder? Soot? Coal? She's all black all over." Carl said contemplatively.

"You could go for irony and call her Snowflake," Carol mused as the kitten started to purr, rubbing her little round head against Carol's fingers.

"What's irony?" Carl asked.

"When something's the opposite of what people expect, I suppose." Carol replied.

"Sort of like Uncle Daryl?" Carl asked and Carol frowned. "I mean, he looks all mean and surly, but he's so cool. He's teaching me to shoot a bow and he plays X-Box with me and he loves us."

For what felt like the millionth time today Carol's eyes brimmed with tears as she nodded back at Carl, focusing her gaze on the kitten.

"You miss him too, don't you?" Carl asked, and again Carol nodded, feeling silly. Daryl had only been gone a day, but she _did_ miss him. "Are you Uncle Daryl's girlfriend?" Carl asked, in that way 12 year olds had of cutting to the chase. Carol's head came up to meet the boy's curious gaze.

"Carl, your Uncle Daryl and I haven't known each other very long..." Carol began carefully.

"Hey Uncle Shane's here!" Carl said happily, and Carol turned to look at the driveway where a squad car had just pulled in, parking behind the other vehicles. She saw the dark haired deputy get out of the driver's side and slam the door shut, waving up at Carl and then pointing to the other side of the car with a grin. The passenger's side door opened and heart-breakingly familiar shaggy red brown mop of hair, goateed pointed chin and assessing blue eyes peered up at them.

"Uncle Daryl!" Carl yelled with joy, thrusting the kitten at Carol and leaping up to jump down off of the porch so he could run to his beloved uncles, almost bowling Daryl over when he jumped up on him to hug him.

"Hey, buddy, slow down there!" Daryl laughed, hugging the boy close, "Ain't like I was in Katmandu—be a little more Zen, why dontcha?" he looked over Carl's shoulder and saw Carol stand, looking like she was about to cry. She had a fuzzy yellow baby blanket held in her arms as she started down the steps.

Daryl set Carl down and stared at Carol.

"Look Mizz Carol, it's Uncle Daryl!" Carl said unnecessarily as the woman walked towards them slowly. Carl went and took the kitten from her and looked back at Daryl. "Want to see my new kitten?" the boy asked Daryl with a smile, but Shane interrupted.

"I'll take a look at it, Carl, bring it on over," and Carl, looking back and forth between Daryl and Carol curiously, did as he was asked, going to his other uncle.

"You look pretty." Daryl said as Carol finally stood in front of him, unaware that most of the rest of the impromptu gathering had come out onto the porch behind her when they heard Daryl's name in Carl's high pitched voice, but had been hushed by Lori.

"Lori's." Carol told him, looking down at her outfit.

"Fits you nice." Daryl said nervously, all too aware of the audience their reunion had generated.

"Thanks." Carol said, smiling shyly up at him, soaking him in. Daryl sighed and scowled at the faces looking at him from the porch, wondering why they'd be having a fuckin' party when he'd been in fuckin' prison. And what the fuck? Was that _Merle?_

Carol looked confused by his scowl and with a look of dismay, wondering what she had done wrong, she started to take a step back, but when he saw her moving away from him, Daryl wasn't having it.

"Oh screw it, com'ere." Daryl said and pulled her into his arms, kissing her like he'd been dreaming of doing since he'd seen her last.

"Yep," Carl said to Shane with a world weary, _I told you so_ voice, "She's his girlfriend."

"Looks like somebody else is a late bloomer." Merle whispered dryly to Lori as he stood behind her up on the porch and Lori nodded in agreement, a small smile playing around her lips.

* * *

**AN:**

_**This chapter is sort of a gloss on the last scene in the ubiquitous Christmas classic **__**It's a Wonderful Life**__** when everyone shows up at George Bailey's house because they've heard he's in trouble. George has just had the experience of seeing what would happen to those around him if he was missing from their lives. Daryl's positive effect on so many people will come as a surprise to him, but not of course to us; )**_

_**The "missing man" in this chapter is of course Daryl, but it's also the name of the terrible book that the survivors kept passing around at the Greene farm in S2 of TWD; Andrea gave it to Daryl as an apology after she shot him, giving us Daryl's priceless reaction, "What no pictures?" and Glenn later returned it to Dale in the RV, prompting his immortal observation "If I'd have known the world was ending I'd have brought better books."**_

_**Lori and Merle never actually had a scene together on the show, so I borrowed some of Carol's dialogue with him from S3 because at this point in my story, Lori is the one who is all mama bear protective of Daryl. There's also a little bit of Daryl and Merle's last talk in there as well.**_

_**A couple of Easter eggs from previous chapters: the name of Ed & Phillip's frat is Tau Psi Delta, chosen deliberately because the Greek letters: ΤΨΔ look like TWD (there is no w in Greek); also Daryl's initials spell DED. In this chapter there are oblique foreshadowing references to Judith, the photo of Daryl holding a baby, Carl pondering names and Carol asking the kitten if its "cozy," which was one of MMB's cutest line reading ever!**_

_**DD1**_


	8. 8: The Richest Man in King County

_**Daryl and Carol's friends and family meet to discuss what they can do to help the couple.**_

* * *

_**The Richest Man in King County**_

That kiss hello would be the last chance Carol and Daryl had to be alone together until much later in the evening. When they'd come up for air, the party on the porch had moved out onto the lawn to surround them both, and Daryl had been stunned to learn that were all there because of worry over him. After shaking hands and renewing his acquaintance with Glenn, Amy, Hershel and his family, Daryl traded hugs with T and Jacqui, Andrea and finally a tight embrace with both Lori and Rick. His eyes kept searching for Carol the whole time though, making sure she stayed within his sight as she moved through the crowd, talking with a variety of the others, working hard to overcome her natural shyness around new people. Finally he came face to face with Merle and the two brothers traded steely eyed squints.

"Merle."

"Derle."

"Axel says hey."

"Sum'bitch still got that pussy broom he calls a handle bar?"

"Yeah. Chin tickler too." Daryl chuckled.

"Dad? What's a pu—" Carl began, and Lori gave the Dixon brothers a despairing glare as her hands closed over her son's shoulders and she marched him back into the house ahead of her.

"That woman's interfering with the boy's worldly education..." Merle said sadly and Daryl looked over at Rick with a wink.

"Assholes." Rick said to both of them and went inside to placate his wife.

"T brought dinner." Glenn said brightly, changing the subject. Maggie sidled up next to him with a look of interest. The two hadn't met before, despite sharing many of the same friends. She had been away at college, finishing up her first year of law school, and Glenn's family had only recently moved from Atlanta to Woodbury to open their new restaurant there. Andrea had been hoping he'd take a fancy to Amy, but there were no sparks there for some reason.

"It's all ready—saved you a place, Glenn." Maggie said with a bright eyed smile and Glenn ducked his head before smiling back, obviously pleased that she'd done so.

"Thanks Miss Greene." he said formally, putting his hands in his front pockets shyly and she laced her arm through his at the elbow.

"Maggie." she said, tilting her head at him as she pulled him back towards the house. After glancing briefly up at Daryl and Merle with sort of a look of wonder on his face, Glenn nodded at her and let himself be pulled along.

"Is there any man in this place who _ain't_ pussy whipped?" Merle said derisively.

Daryl let his eyes settle on Carol as she laughed at something T-Dog said and then she caught his eye and gave him a small smile.

"Just _you,_ Merle...just you." Daryl snorted and then left his brother's side to escort Carol in to dinner, his hand gently against her back, guiding her inside.

* * *

"So we don't really know if they were actually trying to _kill_ Carol or just frighten her and have something to pin on Daryl." Shane said, leaning heavily on the door frame of the great room where the concerned parties had gathered after dinner.

The two storied lofty ceilinged room had a large stone rubble fireplace at one end, hardwood floors and big leather sofas, with a definite masculine ambiance in the rest of its furnishings. It had been an addition to the hundred year old farm house during Rick's father's day, and the room had been his pride and joy, using stone and wood from the farm site itself. Daryl had spent many happy hours in this room and like the rest of the house it felt like home much more than the small place where he had lived for the last twenty-five or so years with Merle.

"Her car was there...the fire started after the time most people would be asleep..." Andrea pointed out, "It seems reasonable to assume they expected her to be home."

"They couldn't have been after Dale and his wife?" Shane said, continuing to play devil's advocate, "It's their house."

"Fire was rigged in the apartment and the batteries had been removed from her smoke alarms." Rick said, reading from the Fire Marshall's report, making everyone sit up straighter in their chairs, looking over at Carol.

"But that can't be right—Dale showed me the alarms when I moved in—it was just two weeks ago—they_ all_ had brand new batteries." she said earnestly, looking up at Rick. Daryl, sitting beside her on the couch, slipped his hand into hers, giving it a little squeeze of support.

"That's what Dale said as well." Rick nodded, looking back down at the report.

"Any sign of surveillance equipment?" Glenn asked. Maggie was perched on the arm of a club chair in which he was seated. The rest of the younger people, Amy, Beth, and Jimmy had gone down to the barn with Lori and Carl to check the pregnant mare, but Maggie had stayed at the house with her father, curious about just what Glenn would contribute to the discussion.

"No—they must've removed it when they set the fire." Rick said, sounding frustrated. "In case anyone's worried, I had Glenn sweep this place earlier tonight and as far as we can tell, we're clean."

"I set up a scrambler, so if they're using any sort of external tech, like boomerang ears, it should block it." Glenn said, pointing at two small devices with blinking amber lights set near the windows. "If they start blinking red, someone's pointing a big ass ear at us."

"When did this become a James Bond movie?" Carol said a little incredulously, "All I wanted to do was leave my husband..." she said, looking up at Daryl, who gave her a look of commiseration.

"I know it sounds crazy Carol, but there's much more at stake than that now." Rick told her. "I pulled this off of the underside of your car tonight." he fished in his pocket and tossed a small electronic device to Glenn, who caught it midair and brought it in close to take a look.

"_Damn_—this is a state of the art GPS tracker!" Glenn said, impressed with the micro-tech.

"That's how he kept finding me..." Carol said, closing her eyes. "God, I am so stupid." she mumbled.

"That's against the law, right?" Daryl said angrily, hoping it was something that they could get the bastard on.

"Not if he owns the vehicle." Maggie said, looking over at Carol. Glenn looked impressed.

"The car is in both our names, some sort of tax thing." she replied, looking defeated, "It's the only reason he couldn't have me up on grand theft auto when I used it to leave." That was another thing the women's shelter had started to help her with until she'd ran to escape Ed again—her rights under Georgia law. "I sent him a check for half its blue book value, but he claimed he never got it."

"So he could still claim ownership." Andrea nodded in agreement. She had a sour look on her face. "He has a good lawyer."

"What _about_ Blake?" Merle asked from his position sitting on the low stone hearth near the couch where Carol and Daryl sat. "That slick son of a bitch sets all my bullshit detectors a clangin'. Whatta you got on him Hop Sing?" he asked Glenn, who just rolled his eyes at the elder Dixon. He'd already heard _Short Round, Bali Hai, No. 1 Son_ and C_onfucius_ from Merle, and that had just been over dinner.

"He's a seriously _rich_ slick son of a bitch." Glenn said, pulling out his tablet computer and thumbing it on, attaching a USB cord to an ELMO which projected the image onto the wall in front of them, from which Rick had removed a painting to clear its surface. "Phillip Blake, 53, the richest man in King County, net worth upwards of 89 million, married to Sarah, nee Gimple, deceased one year ago in a car accident, father of Penny, age 9. Graduated from ol'Miss law school, high honors. Worked his way up through his wife's father's law firm: Gimple, Blake and Kirkman, in Atlanta to managing partner. When his wife was killed he moved to Woodbury and opened his own practice—said he wanted his daughter to grow up in a small town like he did. Claims the locals all talked him into running for mayor..."

"And the fraternity connection, tell them about that." Andrea said.

"Blake and Carol's husband, Ed, belong to a very old, very powerful fraternal group, Tau Psi Delta. Kind of the Skull and Bones of the south." he explained, drawing an analogy to the infamous secret organization to which several past presidents and captains of industry had belonged.

"The kind of group that keeps each other's secrets." Andrea said darkly.

"Saw the ring." Daryl said bitterly. "Saw what it did to Carol's face when he—"

"Daryl!" Carol interrupted, embarrassed, holding her hand to the bridge of her nose as everyone turned to look more closely at her.

"When he _what_?" Merle asked, bristling. He didn't abide with a man hittin' on a woman.

"You're sure he was wearing the ring when he hit you?" Andrea said, narrowing her eyes.

"He never takes it off." Carol said quietly. She had other scars from that sharp edged diamond and gold monstrosity of a ring on other less visible places of her anatomy.

"Damn it—I should've subpoenaed it as evidence..." Andrea berated herself.

"DNA." Maggie said, nodding.

"It could've proved that he hit her—especially if there was any trace evidence of blood." Andrea agreed. "But he's probably had it cleaned by now..."

"I told you, he literally never takes it off." Carol said, shaking her head at the other woman.

"This is good—if we can prove he attacked her that day it will give us a good position to go deeper." Glenn said.

"What about the police call? Someone called it in that day." Daryl asked.

"I checked." Jacqui said, "Unfortunately I wasn't on duty when the call came in. It was logged, but the recording is missing; erased. All we know is that someone at that office called in a domestic—"

"Which Blake claimed Carol did to frame Ed." Andrea sighed, "And without the other women's testimony to corroborate hers-"

"Bought off." Rick said angrily.

"I'm keeping an eye on their bank accounts and purchases." Glenn said with determination. "If any of them suddenly come into a chunk of cash, we've got 'em."

Daryl nodded his head from side to side and Merle grunted.

"Blake's too smart for that—he'll find some other way to reward them—job in city government a couple a years from now or some such—all above board lookin'" Merle said, "I've seen guys like this operate before. Wheels within wheels." All of which worried him mightily about baby bro. He'd gotten tangled in a hornets' nest here.

"So the question remains—if this isn't just a messy divorce case, what is it? What have we stumbled onto here?" Rick asked all assembled. "Why is someone so desperate to silence Carol and getting Daryl caught as collateral damage?"

"Tell me more about his businesses." Maggie asked. At Glenn's raised eyebrow, she shrugged and said, "My forensic accounting professor always says follow the money." And everyone smiled and nodded at the astute observation.

"Blake's buying Ed's packaging company." Carol told her, relating what she'd learned in her meeting earlier.

"For about twice what its market value comes up as." Glenn said, putting up a schematic of earnings and other statistics about Peletier Processing & Packaging.

"I think someone needs to get in there and find out exactly what Phillip Blake needs to have _packaged _so badly." Hershel said with a squint eyed look at the screen.

"Ed uses a lot of part time temp workers—so he doesn't have to pay their health benefits." Glenn told them. "Typical tax dodge-the temp agency also pays their social security so he doesn't have to; this kind of place usually has razor thin margins. For him to make a decent profit he has to keep labor costs incredibly low. A lot of recent immigrants, high school and college age kids or people who for whatever reason don't have many job skills tend to gravitate to this kind of work."

"Are you suggesting some sort of undercover operation?" Shane said, frowning. "That's not the kind of thing you leave to amateurs—could be dangerous—what if it's drugs or something else illegal they're moving out of there?"

"Shane's right—let us work through the Sheriff's office and set up a sting..." Rick began, but T-Dog scoffed.

"So Blake's men can let him know, hide the evidence like they did the 911 call recording?" Jacqui asked archly, "You know better than that Rick."

"We _need _to know what's going on in that packaging building...and sooner rather than later." Andrea said forcefully. "Carol's competency hearing is coming up—and-"

"Glenn, what happened to Blake's wife?" Carol interrupted. "How did she die?"

"She died in a car accident—says it was a hit and run..." and then he stopped and closed his eyes with a sigh. _"Shit."_

"So did my daughter." Carol said softly, nodding, "That's a pretty big coincidence... I think maybe they both saw something they weren't supposed to see... maybe I did too...and I just can't remember it."

"We're getting you in to our psychiatrist tomorrow—she's specialist at recovering suppressed memories—in the mean time we also have Daryl's case to worry about. His arraignment on the arson charges is the day after tomorrow." Andrea said.

"You don't think you can just get the charges dropped? All they have is circumstantial evidence." Rick asked with a frown.

"I'll file a petition...but they do have a motive by claiming that Daryl and Carol were conspiring-trying to make it look as if Ed is after her to help her divorce case." Andrea reminded them all.

"But he _is _after her!" Daryl said heatedly; frustrated with the way everything kept circling back to that basic fact.

"Never the less, Blake is going to try to use any relationship you two are having against her... against you _both."_ Andrea said, trying to be kind, but knowing he wouldn't like what she had to say next. "I'm sorry, but it would probably be better if you two stayed away from each other for the time being."

_"Oh, hell no."_ Daryl said forcefully. "I'm not letting those sons of bitches tell me who I can or can't be with!" he added angrily and then stood and pulling Carol along with him, stalked out of the room.

The assembled group of Daryl's friends and relatives heard the front door slam hard.

_"Shee-it."_ Merle chortled. "Baby bro finally found his balls."

"I always said, when that boy fell, he was gonna fall mighty hard." Hershel said laconically.

"I'll talk to him." Rick said, standing and moving towards the door to follow the couple.

"Let him cool off first, son." Hershel cautioned, holding up a hand to stop the lawman, "I have a feeling he and that gal have some things to..._discuss_." he looked around the room at each of the others, "And besides, we need you here; we have some planning to do if we're going to take down those sons of a bitches."

* * *

One of Daryl's favorite places on the farm was up in the mow of the big old hay barn on the opposite side of the farm yard from the house and to the right of the newer horse stables. He took Carol there, swept along by his anger and frustration at the way the conversation in the house had turned.

The sat up in the second floor doorway to the outside, to where hay was lifted off of the wagons below by a conveyor belt. Daryl hung his feet over the side, daring her to do the same and she gingerly sat down beside him, a bit nervous at how high up above the ground they were. Despite almost falling to his death as a child, or perhaps because he had been saved from that fate, Daryl loved heights.

"Nice view." Carol said, gazing out into the twilight. Daryl's shoulder was touching hers and he shifted slightly closer so his hip bumped against hers as well.

"Yep." Daryl agreed.

"Not quite as _long_ a view as up on the Big Dog." she observed casually.

"Nope." he agreed, and slid his arm around her, wincing as it pulled at the stitches in his left side. "Carol?"

"Hmmn?" Carol asked, turning towards him and sliding her arms around his neck so she could gaze up at him.

"Didn't bring you up here for the view." Daryl said, lowering his face closer to hers and fully embracing her with both arms around her waist now.

"Didn't?" Carol asked and Daryl shook his head at her, staring at her mouth.

"So are you going to explain just what—" but he didn't let her finish her question as his lips met hers, his mouth hungry and demanding. Whether she knew it or not, he'd claimed her by kissing her in front of all his friends earlier and by walking out on them when Andrea had given her unwelcome opinion on them being together.

Daryl wasn't a man who did things by half measure, and he figured that the reason no woman had ever made him feel this way before was that none of them had been the _right _woman. The fact that she was so ...well... _complicated..._well, fuck, that was just how his life usually went. He'd do whatever it took to keep her right where she belonged, right here next to him.

She smelled so good—_felt_ so good in his arms, like she was made for him. Her mouth tasted like sweet honey barbeque and rich chicory coffee and her lips were soft and warm as they opened for him to deepen the kiss, his tongue pushing forward to find hers—damn but the French had that right—so so sensitive, like your finger tips. Hers met his and drove him higher until he broke the kiss and used it to lick over her cheek and jaw, wanting to taste her everywhere, all over her sylph-like body, every inch.

Carol gave a little cry as his questing tongue reached her neck and swept down to find her collar bone, and her hands moved to clutch at the back of his head, her fingers catching in his hair. _They were in serious danger of letting things get out of control here,_ she thought somewhat abstractly as she felt his hot mouth at the V of her breasts, when the sound of people's voices raised in farewells and cars doors slamming and engines starting finally broke through her sensual daze.

Daryl heard it too and knew if anyone really looked they could be seen in their perch by the wash of light from the farm yard light. He reluctantly lifted his head and looked at Carol's face, pink cheeked, pupils dilated with desire equal to what he'd felt moments before. They were both breathing heavily and he knew if he took her mouth again he wouldn't be able to stop so easily, so he kissed her forehead and released her, sitting back in their original side by side position, holding her hand tightly until his god damn hard on went away. It took awhile and neither of them spoke.

As each group of people came out of the house or up from the stables they paused and looked up at the hay barn. Some of them waved and Daryl and Carol waved back, others just shielded their eyes against the farm light and shook their heads with a smile.

"You know when Glenn said that Blake was the richest man in the county I think he got that wrong." Carol finally said as they watched the last of the visitors drive away into the night.

"Whatta ya mean?" Daryl asked, frowning. Eighty-nine million wasn't exactly chump change...

"I don't think for all his money that Phillip Blake knows what true wealth really is...friendship, love... the people who care about _you_ the way I saw here tonight." Carol said sincerely, hoping she could make Daryl understand the truth of that. He was a totally different kind of man than her husband and his lawyer, and she loved that about him.

Whatever Ed was chasing after, some brass ring of money or power, in the end he would never be happy because he had lost his child, his wife, and any chance at happiness along with them. He'd sold his soul to the devil...

"I didn't get to tell you—I like your vest." Carol told him, releasing his hand so she could run it over the cloth feathers on the back of his dark leather vest.

"This old thing?" Daryl asked. He'd put it on the day before, intending to ride his motorcycle later, and consequently ended up wearing it to the prison when he'd been arrested.

"The wings... you're my angel, Daryl..." Carol said softly, slightly embarrassed to be so sentimental, but meaning it, resting her head on his shoulder. _"I think I'm falling in love with you..."_ she whispered.

"Guess that makes _me_ the richest man in King County..." Daryl drawled with a small smile, kissing the top of her head.

* * *

**AN:**

**The title of this chapter was actually inspired by episode 201 of the old TV show _Little House on the Prairie_, "The Richest Man in Walnut Grove" where the Ingalls find that family is more important than any amount of money.**

_**Apologies to the TWD show runners, but I just had to name the evil law firm Gimple, Blake & Kirkman! LOL!**_

_**Happy New Year!**_


	9. Chapter 9: I'm Easy

**_Daryl and Carol have some alone time in the hay mow until an emergency calls them into action and we find out a bit more about Daryl's past._**

* * *

_**I'm Easy**_

_**Don't do me favors, let me watch you from a distance  
'Cause when you're near, I find it hard to keep my head  
And when your eyes throw light at mine  
It's enough to change my mind  
Make me leave my cautious words and ways behind  
That's why I'm easy  
Ya, I'm easy  
Say you want me, I'll come running  
Without taking time to think  
Because I'm easy  
Ya, I'm easy  
Take my hand and pull me down  
I won't put up any fight  
Because I'm easy  
Ya, I'm easy  
Give the word, I'll play your game  
As though that's how it ought to be  
Because I'm easy...  
-**_ by Keith Carradine

Here he was makin' out with her like a couple a teenagers worried that her daddy would find them up in the hay mow. Only it wasn't her pa, it was his best friend, his brother that would have his hide if he found them.

Daryl knew from the look on Rick's face that he'd agreed with Andrea's recommendations about he and Carol staying away from each other, but all of that vanished when Carol had tripped on their way down the stairs from the hay barn's second story loading door and in trying to catch her they'd fallen into the loose hay from the bales that had broken open when tossed up by the mechanical loading ladder.

He'd turned them in mid air so his body would break her fall, and she had indeed landed smack dab on top of him, belly to belly, with his hardness notched at the hot juncture of her thighs, her breasts flush against his chest, her surprised face chin to chin with his. She took a deep breath and he watched her pupils dilate and then she smiled, one of the sweetest smiles he'd ever seen in his entire life and so he kissed her, just like that. Her arms stole around his body, pulling him closer and his hands cradled her at the hip and between her shoulder blades and then they were falling again, rolling down the low slope that the pile of hay bales tossed randomly to the floor had made.

They came to rest in a fluffy pocket of the dried sweet grasses with him on top this time and he was shocked when she wrapped her long legs around his thighs and very deliberately rubbed her core against him, moaning into his mouth.

_"God, you feel so good..." _she cried,her voice breathy and hot, her fingers digging into his back, feeling the feathers over leather, the muscles of his strong back as they bunched and flexed.

_Had anything in his sorry life ever been so right?_ He wondered and groaned her name, which made her moan loudly and he tried to silence her by deepening the kiss, but that only encouraged her slow grind against him and he felt himself responding, his hips matching her motions and she gasped. His mouth left hers briefly, but then she whimpered and sucked on his lower lip, drawing it into her mouth and worrying it with her sharp little teeth, biting down, making him buck his hips against her hard as he swore, tasting blood.

_"Shit, Carol!" _he gasped and she moaned again, her hands sliding up to his nape, closing around the now sweaty skin there, winding her fingers through his hair, holding his head to her as she licked at his lower lip in apology, but then thrust her tongue inside his mouth to find his and he was lost, meeting her every movement. His right hand skimmed under her pink blouse to find her breast over the lacy bra, pinching the stiff little nipple through the fabric, roughly pumping his hips in a relentless rhythm until she ripped her mouth from his and he felt her whole body stiffen and then shudder, her back bowing, her hands pulling painfully at his hair and she screamed in ecstasy until he took her mouth again to mask the sound.

Fuck. She _came._

_Fuck._

Daryl was panting, so rock cock hard he couldn't see straight and she was crying and saying his name and burying her head in his neck and _thanking _him for fuck's sake.

This damaged woman, bruises still fading from the last time her husband had beat her, had been able to trust him enough to give him passion, to _accept_ it from him.

They were still fully clothed, his hand at her breast, her tears wet on his neck.

"Daryl! Carol! You still up there?" Lori's voice rang out. "Flame's foaling but she's in trouble—and Rick needs your help." she continued without waiting for a reply.

Daryl and Carol sat up quickly and she looked at him with concern, worried about the horse and the boy to whom it belonged.

"That's Carl's mare, right?" Carol asked, the little crinkle of worry between her brows marring the look of pink cheeked bliss she'd had only seconds before as they'd lain in the hay staring at each other with something like wonder.

"Be right there, Lori!" Daryl yelled down while nodding yes in response to Carol's question. "Hershel still here?" he asked, as he stood, thrusting his hand out to help Carol do the same, balance tricky on the loose hay.

"On his way back—they got about half way home—take him at least 15 minutes." Lori yelled back and then they heard her holler back at Rick that Daryl was on his way.

"You ok?" Daryl said, sounding shy now that they were vertical again, uncertain if he'd overstepped, gone further than she'd really been ready for.

"Just a little guilty." Carol said with that sweet smile again.

"Guilty?—ain't nothin' that you did wrong—" he began hotly, unwilling to let her feel like she had lost his respect for responding to him—but then he swallowed hard as her small firm hand came to rest below his silver belt buckle as she continued to look into his eyes.

"Guilty." She repeated, nodding slowly. Then she tilted her head to the side, asking, "Later?" taking his breath away.

"I'm easy." He murmured, and then reached down and held her hand tighter against him and closed his eyes, nodding yes, making her giggle.

* * *

The foal was big and the mare was young and Daryl was worried. She was down, sweat covered, exhausted with her labor. Rick was afraid she was giving up, but the process had progressed just far enough that the foal needed to come out now or suffocate, still inside its mother when it tried to use its new lungs for the first time.

"Gonna have to pull it." Rick said, grimacing, knowing that risked both mare, who could be ripped and torn, and foal, which could be injured, limbs possibly dislocated, but unprepared and lacking the skill to do a caesarian.

"_Please don't let her die, dad."_ Carl cried from his position at the front of the horse, cradling her head.

"Maybe we should go in the house, Carl." Lori said gently, not wanting him to have to witness it if Rick and Daryl were forced to put the mare down to save the foal.

"No—she's my horse—I should be here." Carl said, sounding a bit afraid, but resigned to see it through no matter what.

"Boy's right, Lori." Rick said, proud of his son.

"He's _twelve,_ Rick." Lori said heatedly, her hand on her own pregnant belly, perhaps identifying too much with the laboring mare, fearful that Carl would make the same analogy.

"His horse, Lori—his responsibility." Daryl said quietly, raising his eyes to her, his head down.

Standing next to Lori outside the stall, Carol watched their interactions with awe. They were _discussing_ it—a difficult issue dealing with so many undercurrents of love and responsibility and hard decisions about a child and valuable property, but there were no shouts, no blows, nor recriminations. It was a revelation to her that a family could be this way at a time like this. Tentatively she put her hand to Lori's back and the other woman relaxed back into the touch and leaned close, resting her head on Carol's shoulder.

"My baby's growing up." Lori murmured proudly, but then stiffened, realizing what she'd just said, pulling back to look at Carol with remorse.

Carol's baby would never grow up.

"I'm sorry..." Lori said softly, her eyes filling with sympathetic tears, looking at Carol's stoic face.

"It's ok. How can I begrudge any one of her own child?" Carol said, "And he is a good kid." She added, thinking of how kind he had been, showing her his kitten, realizing how left out she'd felt without Daryl there earlier in the evening. "Sophia would've liked him." she decided, smiling.

Lori nodded and smiled back. Then she got a calculating look on her face and reached up and pulled a long stalk of hay out of Carol's short curly hair, looking pointedly over at Daryl, who also had several stalks caught in his dark mane.

"Enjoying our hay mow, I see?" she asked, a sly dimple appearing in her cheek.

Carol blushed and plucked the strand of hay out of Lori's hand and shoved it in her pocket. Lori's face turned serious then and she put her arm around Carol's shoulders and leaned close.

"Don't hurt my friend, Carol." Lori whispered, low enough that only Carol could hear. "He may look like a redneck bad ass, but life's kicked the shit out of him several times over."

It was a little disconcerting to have someone warn _her _about hurting someone; it wasn't a power she'd ever thought to have over another. From the time she'd understood such things she'd never had any power. Growing up in her parents strict fundamentalist home, joining the church clubs they'd mandated, dating the few boys of which they approved, she'd looked forward to getting out of their house and away to college.

Smooth talking Ed Peletier had been the first man she'd ever slept with and her guilt over that had led her to accept his marriage proposal, even though she knew she didn't love him. He was too much like her father, controlling, manipulative...violent...but in the end she supposed that some sick part of her was comfortable with that, knew how to deal with it, just as her mother had.

The first time Ed beat her, she'd packed up her things and had gone home, only to be turned back at their door, her parents telling her that marriage was a sacred institution and no daughter of theirs was going to be a divorced whore. She'd never spoken to them voluntarily again, only exchanging cold banal pleasantries at the hospital when Sophia had been born and twice a year, on Christmas and her daughter's birthday when they came by with gifts. When Sophia had died their gray presence at the funeral had only added to the surreal nature of the day. Now she was sure that Ed had slipped something, some soporific into her drink to numb her pain and make her easy to control.

When she'd left him she'd briefly considered contacting her parents, but then laughed without humor at the idea. Ed's lawyer had read a letter from her father at the hearing the other day in which the kindest thing she'd been called had been "difficult and distant" as a daughter.

_"His scars..."_ Lori murmured, drawing Carol's attention back to the present. Both Rick and Daryl had stripped the clothing off their upper bodies as they prepared to work on the mare and Carol was shocked to see the raised red and purpled stripes of old wounds liberally raised over Daryl's back and front, along with several amazing looking tattoos. It was simultaneously heart breaking and arousing to see his bare back and chest...the broad shoulders, the powerful arms, the happy trail of sandy brown hair leading the eye from his well defined chest to abs and below...

_ "I didn't know..."_ Carol breathed, realizing they had so much more in common than she'd even suspected.

"So you _haven't...?"_ Lori whispered the very personal question.

"Third base." Carol said without thinking, still staring at Daryl hungrily, and Lori's belly laugh startled her into laughing along.

"I hope you're better at knowing what the bases are than Rick—in college he thought touching my ass meant he'd made it home." Lori giggled.

"What the hell you women cacklin' about over there?" Daryl groused, pulling on the long plastic gloves that reached past his elbow. It would be his job to reach up inside the mare and attach a blunt hook to the eye socket of the foal, gently easing it out the birth canal. It took a tremendous amount of arm strength to fight the force of the mare's contractions if the foal needed to be turned. Rick would be on the rope, attached to a come-along winch, lending strength when needed, to pull out the foal.

"Just tradin' war stories," Lori said smoothly and Daryl snorted, but looked uncertain, a blush finding his cheeks, thinking they might be talking about him.

"Can you check Hershel's ETA, honey?" Rick asked as Daryl applied lube to the surface of his gloved hands and arms.

"Shane took the squad out to the highway to give him a bubble gum escort—be here any minute." Lori told him, knowing that it wasn't exactly kosher to use the siren and lights for a veterinary emergency.

"Should we wait?" Rick asked Daryl, uncertain.

"Carol—com'ere." Daryl asked and she frowned. "You had some nursin' school right?" she nodded. "Think you can take a heart rate, respiration and BP on a horse?" he asked and so she found herself in a horse stall next to the, to her, huge animal, listening for its vital signs.

She watched Daryl, laying on his side, up to his shoulder inside the horse as it moaned softly, its eyes closed in pain, Carl silently crying while he spoke calmly to his mare, softly stroking her ears and head.

"Son of a bitch's got a god dam big head!" Daryl said in frustration, "Gotta push it back in so I can find the feet." In a normal presentation the front feet came out first.

"Her heart rate's dropping, Daryl!" Carol said with urgency. He'd told her 80-100 BPM was normal range, but it had slowed to 75.

_ "Shit!"_ Daryl exclaimed, the muscles in his chest and neck straining as he tried to find the slippery little hooves. Carl looked up at Carol anxiously and Rick and Lori exchanged a sad look. Rearing back Daryl pulled out his arm and stripped off the glove and plunged his bare arm back in.

"Can't feel a fuckin' thing with those things on—worse'n a rubber." He growled and Carol's eyes went wide, still looking at Carl who snorted despite his worry and grinned at her, knowing full well to what Daryl was referring.

"There you are, you little bastards." Daryl said triumphantly and began to strain back, pulling slowly and soon they saw his hand reappear grasping two small soft grey hooves followed by a white nose. Daryl brought his other hand up and with gentle patient pressure, helped the mare finish delivering her baby, a beautiful big black colt with a white nose and blaze and two white back stockings.

"He's all legs!" Carol said with astonishment, looking at the pretzel-like bent appendages under the baby horse. Daryl held the colt against his chest where it had landed when it came tumbling out.

"He'll be walking in an hour or less and ready to run not too long after that—have to be ready to keep up with the herd." Rick said, coming up and kneeling beside the foal with what looked like a turkey baster, using it to clean out the colt's nostrils. "Nature's way of keeping him alive."

"How's mama?" Lori asked from the doorway to the stall.

"Vitals are stable, picking up a little now that he's out." Carol said, just as the foal nickered out his first high pitched whiny and the mare moved her head and dislodged Carl's hold on her, looking for her baby and whickering a low questing reply. Daryl muscled himself up, picked up the 100 lb. baby and carried it to the mare's head so she could lick him, which would stimulate both his breathing and later his digestion of the all important colostrum, the first mother's milk that would pass on her immunities.

"We're here!" Shane announced, coming into the barn with Hershel, Beth and Jimmy trailing close behind.

"Day late n' dollar short like usual." Daryl drawled, grinning over at Carl, Rick and Carol in turn.

"Whatta ya got?" Hershel said, coming into the stall, his big box med kit in his hand.

"Colt." Carl said proudly.

"Big one—mare doing ok?" Hershel asked Daryl.

"No afterbirth yet, but she's stable." he replied.

"May I?" Hershel asked, kneeling beside Carol and she handed over the stethoscope and BP meter, looking at her speculatively. "You a nurse?" he asked, noting that she was using proper procedures.

"Three semesters of training is all." Carol demurred.

"She was a big help." Daryl said with a small smile. Hershel moved to check both mare and foal, pronouncing them both well, much to everyone's relief.

When he saw the unused rig set up for the winch Hershel walked over to Rick, who was standing leaning on the stall door talking to Shane and Lori while Daryl rinsed off his bloody manure covered arms and chest, Carol holding a towel for him to use when he finished.

"How?" he asked.

"All Daryl." Rick said with a shrug.

"Boy's wastin' his life as a plumber." Hershel said, frowning hard.

"You know I've told him 'til I was blue in the face." Rick said angrily, "His father won't hear of it."

"He's thirty-five years old—when does he get to live his own damn life?" Hershel asked hotly. "That man has more natural talent with animals than I've ever seen in all my years in practice—it's like he can get inside their heads—knows what they _need_."

As they watched Daryl let Carol help him get dry, rubbing the big towel over his chest until both of them seemed to realize what she was doing and they stopped, staring into each others eyes until Daryl swooped down to give her a quick kiss before he pulled the towel out of her unresisting hands and finished drying himself.

"Looks like he's pretty aware of what _she_ needs too." Rick said, fascinated by this side of Daryl he'd rarely seen before. He'd seen his friend happy, angry, defeated, literally beaten, but never so focused on a woman like this.

"Always makes me wince—looking at those scars of his. You know my daddy was no prize and I took my share of beatings, but those scars speak of a sick mind..." Hershel said heatedly under his breath.

* * *

Rick thought back to the night Daryl had received many of them, the night he'd found his best friend bloody and half dead, hiding in this very barn. They'd been juniors in high school; Daryl had just won the state championship and had been offered a full ride scholarship to a university which had an internationally renowned archery team, with members regularly competing in the Olympics. They also had an excellent pre-veterinary program, to which Daryl had already been accepted. His future had seemed assured...until his father had found the hidden cache of letters from the coach and Dean of the vet school. When he'd gotten home from school that evening his father had cold cocked him, knocked him out and when he came to he'd been hugging the big willow tree in their back yard, his hands tied around it at the wrists and his feet at the ankles.

His father had whipped him, laying open the flesh on Daryl's back until he passed out. When he came to the second time he was now tied facing front, his back against the rough bark of the tree in agony and his father was holding the acceptance letters and all of his archery equipment was in a pile on the ground in front of him. As he watched, struggled against his ropes, his daddy poured lighter fluid over his bows, bolts, and quivers; he lit one of the letters with his cigarette and dropped the sheaf of papers onto the pile.

"_You_ are a _Dixon._ _You_ are a _plumber._ No more a' this fuckin; bullshit about some high and mighty University." his father said with cold menace, "You're done with the bow, you're going to tech school and you're comin' to work in the family trade. _You got me?"_

Daryl watched his dreams go up in smoke and didn't say a word, stoically bearing it just as he had his mother's death and his brother's defection, leaving him here...alone...but seeing that as defiance, his father decided that the boy needed a few more reminders that if that's what his daddy said his life was, that's what his life was, and lashed his chest to match his back.

Rick had no idea how Daryl had made it all this way to the Grimes' farm, in the state he was in. He knew his friend needed a doctor, but Daryl begged him not to tell his parents, so Rick had called the vet his dad had relied on for years, the one with the practice over near Woodbury, Hershel Greene.

* * *

"You know why, better'n anyone." Rick said quietly, watching Daryl pull his shirt and vest back on, relieved to see that the scars hadn't seemed to bother Carol.

"Still wish I hadn't let you boys talk me out of calling the police that night." Hershel said regretfully.

"He'd have killed him then, Hershel, or had him killed—we both know that." Rick said and Hershel sighed, knowing Rick was right but hating it just the same.

"You're probably right...guess these two have a lot in common—assholes trying to run their lives..." the old vet said, nodding at Carol and Daryl, who were kneeling to pet the foal, Carol looking quietly amazed and Daryl proud and happy.

"Guess so." Rick said, sounding troubled. "Let's make sure it doesn't get them _both_ killed."

"Ain't gonna be easy." Hershel sighed, watching the battered wife of a brutal man holding hands with the son of one.

The two good men, who cared for Daryl as friend, brother, son, exchanged a rueful nod.

* * *

**_AN: On TWD in S2 Hershel reveals his own abusive past with his father to Rick and they also both see Daryl's scars while Hershel treats him for the wounds he got looking for Sophia. I wanted to incorporate some of that into the story and also explain why Daryl was forced to abandon his dreams of vet school, yet because of his closeness to Rick's family he had the opportunity to still be around and learn about animals and through helping Hershel he has learned enough to help Carl's mare and foal here._**

**_BTW I grew up on a horse farm and witnessed many foals being born. It's pretty amazing! DD1_**

**_Thanks readers, favs, follows and you wonderful reviewers!_**


	10. Chapt 10: The Fine Art of Breaking Eggs

_**A bit of a longer chapter; first part Daryl's POV, second, Carol's of the same night and morning after including time stamped flashbacks. Some fall out from Daryl's arrest and Sweet Smut warning. **_

* * *

_**"The Fine Art of Breaking Eggs"**_

_**Daryl's Morning: **_

_**7:00 a.m.**_

The knock on the door at 7:00 a.m. was a surprise, but considering who was behind it, it shouldn't have been.

Daryl had been up at dawn, around 5:30 a.m., down to check on the mare and foal, then stopping at the hen-house to gather the eggs for breakfast, though he'd been loath to leave his bed in the guest room, the bed where Carol still slept. Leaning against the kitchen counter, enjoying a big mug of the rich Colombian brew Lori adored but was forbidden during her pregnancy, he thought back on the events as they had unfolded the previous days, wondering again how he'd gotten in so deep so fast.

_Carol._

She was just fuckin' amazing—that was part of it. She understood him on a level few ever had, instinctively and completely. Just her touch could calm him or set him aflame and they had already developed nonverbal shorthand of looks and glances that rivaled what he shared with Rick, who he'd known most of his life. All of that had made last night the most tender and intimate he'd ever experienced... he felt almost reborn, never knowing it could be like this with a woman.

_Shit!_

The hot coffee sloshed over the rim and burned his hand as his reverie over last night made him lose focus on holding the cup, and at the same time the sharp knocking on the front door snapped his head up.

"I'll get it!" Carl yelled from the front of the house, bounding down the stairs from his loft room where he'd retreated after going to the barn with Daryl.

Daryl set down the mug and hurried to quiet the boy. His mother was not a morning person and on the weekends especially she liked to sleep in, leaving chores and breakfast prep to anyone who wanted to eat, and neither she nor Rick had made an appearance yet today.

Just then a sleepy looking Carol, wearing Lori's pink robe over the Grateful Dead t-shirt _he'd_ worn to bed last night, some of his big cotton socks that she'd filched out of the dresser in the guest room on her feet, came through the other door to the kitchen.

"_Need coffee_," she moaned, holding her hands out in front of her like a zombie, walking stiffly towards him. Smiling, Daryl intercepted her with a kiss and she hugged him.

"Someone's at the door—coffee's on the counter, be right back." Daryl told her.

"And here I was scheming on how to get you to come back to bed..." Carol pouted, pinching him on the butt, and he flinched.

_"Hey!" _ He yelped in embarrassment and she giggled at him.

"You are just so damn cute." she told him and he rolled his eyes. No one had called him cute since he was three.

"Door." he said again and she reluctantly released him.

"Go. Abandon me to my other lover: rich smelling caffeine laced temptation." Carol said with a long-suffering sigh, but stole a quick glance at him as if realizing what she'd just said_...other lover..._

_Damn boy, you slept with a married woman..._ Daryl thought to himself..._and felt not an ounce of guilt about it._

"Despite the fact that you plum wore me out last night, I shall return to lure you back into my bed shortly, woman." Daryl promised, and then enjoyed her happy proud little half-smile as she turned towards the mug tree on the counter to select one for her brew...but then her hand moved to lift up the box holding Lori's herbal tea bags, seeming to contemplate them instead.

Daryl's attention was pulled away then because he could hear Carl speaking with someone, a woman. Following the voices, he went down the short hallway to the great room and then the foyer. Shane was on watch at the top of the farm lane, so no one should have been able to get back to the house without his knowledge, but Carl still should've waited to open the door until Daryl arrived. That probably meant it was someone who the boy knew—perhaps Andrea?

"Yes m'am—last night. It's a colt, black with white markings." Carl was saying politely to the attractive brunette standing in front of him who nodded at Daryl.

_Well, shit._ It was his stepmother, Karen.

"There you are, Daryl." Karen said, her smile of acknowledgement not reaching her eyes. Karen Dixon was younger than her step son, and had married his father ten years ago when she'd been twenty-three and Tom Dixon had been in his mid 50s. Daughter of the owner of the biggest car dealership in the county, she'd gone to business school and had worked as a saleswoman in her father's shop when the elder Dixon had gone in to buy a fleet of new trucks for the plumbing business. Wary of working with a woman, Tom had none-the-less followed through with the purchase, intrigued by her direct and cut throat approach to negotiations.

Wearing her usual weekend uniform of high heels, pressed slacks and red leather blazer over a starched blouse, her long wavy hair pulled back into a chignon at her neck, a heavy turquoise squash blossom necklace and turquoise and silver earrings, Karen was cool expensive elegance, icy and detached, a mask she wore well. One would never guess she was the wife of a tradesman; a very wealthy tradesman, yes, but a blue-collar man none the less.

Both Daryl and Merle had been astonished by their daddy's marriage to the dark-eyed young beauty, quickly arranged, expecting the arrival of a much younger sibling was in the offing, but none appeared. It became clear that Karen was in their lives to run the business and spend their father's money, both of which she did magnificently.

Daryl looked behind her, seeing that she'd driven the BMW SUV instead of the low slung convertible she usually favored; sure it was because she'd been forced to come find him at the farm. Though Karen's wardrobe vaguely affected the western lifestyle, she was not a country girl. She was also staring at him impatiently.

"When I didn't find you at the house your brother suggested you might be visiting with the Grimes again." Karen said. Despite being the same age, Lori and she did not travel in the same social circles, and as her husband did not approve of Daryl's attachment to the family as a whole, they were usually beneath her notice.

"He got that right." Daryl said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?' Karen asked archly, her tone indicating she felt she was being treated rudely.

"What do you want, Karen?" Daryl asked, unwilling to play her games. Karen looked back and forth between Carl and Daryl and then reached out to put her perfectly manicured hand on Daryl's forearm.

"We have some things to discuss—_privately._" his stepmother said.

"Carl, if you ask real nice, Carol will make you up some a' the best eggs you ever had." Daryl told the boy, whose face lit up and he nodded, saying goodbye to Karen and heading for the kitchen.

"I thought Mrs. Grimes' name was _Lori._.." Karen said disingenuously, knowing very well who the other woman staying at the house would be.

"Cut the crap Karen, you got me alone now; tell me why you're here." Daryl said, walking past Karen out onto the big farm porch and leaning back against one of the posts supporting the overhanging roof. Karen followed him out and took a seat on the big porch swing, suspended by chains from the ceiling.

"It is a lovely spot they have here, isn't it? My father speaks very highly of Sheriff Grimes—Travis—says he was a good man." Karen said in a voice brimming with false nostalgia.

"Your husband didn't share that opinion." Daryl said dryly, remembering the beatings he had taken for trying to defend the Grimes family against his father and brother's scathing insults.

"No...no, he doesn't. It _hurts_ Tom that you'd prefer to spend your time _here_ instead of the home he made for you and Merle." Karen said sadly, injecting a note of pathos into her voice that was as fake as her bra size.

"Bullshit." Daryl called, snorting. "My father's just a selfish prick who doesn't want anyone else playing with his toys. This had always been more of a home to me than anywhere _he_ lives."

"Well, I suppose that makes what I came to tell you easier, then." Karen said with a sigh, pulling a large manila folder out of her leather messenger style bag and holding it out to him.

"What's that?"

"Let's call it a severing of business and familial ties, shall we?" Karen said coldly, back in cut throat business mode. Daryl took a step forward and accepted the folder.

"In light of your recent arson arrest and other possible criminal and immoral conduct, including an extramarital relationship and conspiracy to blackmail said woman's husband, your services are no longer required as an employee of SPS." Karen said as if she was reciting a script.

_"You're fucking firing me?"_ Daryl exclaimed, stunned.

"Yes, back dated to the time of your arrest. Your uniforms, keys and work vehicle have already been confiscated from your former residence. Merle informed me that you bought your own tools, so you can pick those up with the rest of your things when you move out of the house-"

"My _former-_-what the hell, Karen!" Daryl was reeling; they couldn't just kick him out of his house, could they?

"Your father owns that house, Daryl. You were living there rent free at his pleasure. You are no longer considered a desirable tenant." She stood. "Please have your belongings removed from it by end of business on Monday; call first so we know when you're coming."

Daryl didn't know what to say—was there anything else in his life that she could so utterly change in the space of a few minutes?

"You need to sign some legal papers so that your severance package and retirement account may be released to you and moved to a different bank of your choice." Karen continued, "There's also a letter that I found addressed to you in the safe deposit box under your name...I'd suggest that you go over all of this with a lawyer before you sign anything." she advised more kindly.

"Safe deposit box? I don't have a—" Daryl began, but Karen shook her head at him.

"I was told about it when I was closing out the other accounts. I checked—it was opened for you by your mother the summer before she died." Karen said, her voice breaking slightly and then Daryl saw something in her eyes that made him pause; some warmth, some sympathy he would have never expected from her. She stepped closer and tentatively embraced him, though his body remained stiff and unyielding.

"He's _letting you go,_ Daryl—use this chance—be who _you_ want to be now." Karen whispered.

Daryl frowned uncomprehendingly—was_ she_ as trapped as he had always felt as a Dixon?

"I'd like to meet your Carol sometime—see the woman who finally woke you up." she said, squeezing his shoulders and when she released him her eyes were shiny with tears.

"Karen?" Daryl said, confused, but she had put on her mask of cool detachment again, sniffing delicately, blinking rapidly.

"I'm off. No rest for the wicked." she trilled and stepped down off the porch, heading for her vehicle. "Don't forget to call first." she called back over her shoulder and waved before she got in her expensive car and drove away.

Daryl stood for a minute, watching her head back down the lane, waiting for that feeling of panic he was expecting to set in. He'd just lost his job, his home and his birthright, all in one fell swoop...

He turned and went back into the house, back into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway, watching Carol busy at the stove cooking eggs for not just Carl, but for him, Lori and Rick who were sitting at the kitchen table. Bacon and sausage also sputtered and snapped in the pan and Carol was explaining to Lori how to use their grease to get that nice brown crust on the bottom of the fried eggs while still getting a soft yolk. Carl was buttering a big stack of whole wheat toast and Rick was leaning down, his hand to Lori's belly, laughing when a little foot or fist seemed to punch out.

Rick's head came up when he saw Daryl and everyone else turned their faces to look at him.

"What did Karen want, Daryl?" Rick asked, concerned that she had brought some unwanted message from Tom Dixon.

"Well, it seems I am now unemployed and homeless." Daryl announced with a shrug.

"What?" Lori said, shocked.

"That old son of a bitch!" Rick said with disgust, slamming his hand down on the table.

"Can he do that dad?" Carl asked, "I mean Uncle Daryl didn't do anything wrong!"

"He's right—Daryl hasn't been convicted of a crime." Lori argued, angry at the summary action.

"He could argue that people don't want a suspected felon coming into their homes and places of business—but he could've just suspended you until the outcome of the hearing..." Rick said.

Alone of them Carol had said nothing, just kept looking down at the eggs she was cooking while the others watched Daryl carefully.

"Carol?" Daryl asked, wondering what he had to offer her now—no job, no home—how could he take care of her and... She lifted her face to look at him and he saw she was crying and his face fell. She took a big breath and smiled at him, setting down the spatula and wiping her hands on the apron she'd put on over the robe.

"Sometimes you have to break something to create something even better, Daryl." Carol said simply, smiling through her tears, so happy for him she could burst, _he was free of his father's control._

Daryl practically ran across the room and grabbed her, kissing her hard and picked her up in his arms, carrying her like a bride across the threshold, heading back down the hall to their room.

"Hey! What about my breakfast, _Pookie_?" Rick called out petulantly to their retreating backs, making Lori swat him on the arm, crying and smiling too.

"Cook yer own damn eggs!" Daryl yelled back.

* * *

_**Carol's morning**_

_**7:05 a.m.**_

Carol saw the old-fashioned wire basket full of fresh brown eggs on the counter as she waited for Daryl to come back from greeting whoever had been at the door. She picked up one of them, still warm from the hen, holding its surface against her whisker burned cheek to feel its smooth texture.

After just a few days she already loved it here on the farm. The wide open spaces, the animals—she'd never been permitted so much as a goldfish, her mother and Ed agreeing that animals in the house were unsanitary—the fresh produce to cook with; it was all too good to be true. And that it came with a man like Daryl Dixon? Well, she should be covered in self-inflicted bruises from how many times she'd pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

And speaking of dreaming, had last night possibly been real?

* * *

_**Midnight**_

After the foal had finally struggled to its feet and had started nursing well, Hershel, Beth and Jimmy had made their farewells and the rest of the weary equine maternity ward closed up shop for the night. Carol and Lori had gone up to the house first while the men cleaned the stall of the afterbirth and put all of their tools away. Carol had taken a quick shower and was already in bed with the nightstand light on, when Daryl came into the room wearing only a white towel slung low around his hips, his hair still wet and slicked back from his shower.

She'd noticed that he didn't seem to mind being dirt covered—she supposed that was a trade-off with the kind of work he did both on the farm and as a plumber—but damn, he cleaned up good. She watched with dismay as he grabbed an old concert t-shirt out of the dresser and pulled it on, messing up his hair. Then he grabbed a pair of sweats, putting them on under the towel and then removed it and hung it from the back of the desk chair.

"Night." he said again, just as he'd done their first night there, and walked over to the big recliner and settled in, pulling the blanket down over him.

Carol was crushed. It was as if the haymow had never happened. She laid there for a minute or two with her indecision about his possible motives flipping back and forth in her mind. He was being a gentleman. She was still married. He knew her history of abuse. _But..._he'd given her an orgasm while they'd been fully dressed. He kissed her like he wanted her to live inside his heart. She wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anyone else in her entire life.

"Daryl?" Carol said, sounding upset, sitting up and turning towards him. She waited until he opened his eyes and looked at her, his brow wrinkled in concern.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sitting more fully upright and squinting at her.

Carol let the sheet and comforter drop to her waist so he could see that unlike him, she'd not _dressed _for bed.

_"Oh holy hell, Carol..."_

"_It's later_." she said, reminding him of her promise in the hay barn.

"Sweetheart, we've barely known each other a week...and you're still married." he tried being logical with her.

"I ceased to be married the second I walked out of his house six months ago...maybe ever since the second my daughter died...and I think we both know that it wouldn't matter if we waited until we were eighty; this has been right since you were the one who happened to take a house call about a slow draining tub."

"That purple _thang_ burnt up in the fire I suppose..." he teased.

"I told you, that _wasn't_ mine." she protested back, enjoying the game.

"Have to admit I'm relieved—it'as mighty _small..._" Daryl said, implying that she would have a very different experience if he came to her bed. He threw the light blanket off of his body and rose in one sinuous movement, walking towards her.

"The _thangs_ you say..." Carol murmured, imitating his drawl, enjoying his approach, head low, eyes obscured behind his fringe of dark bangs, mouth set in a sultry grin.

"You sure?" he asked, pausing beside the bed now. "This ain't gonna be no teenage make out session." he warned her. The way he felt about her, the _ways_ he wanted her, this was going to be something else entirely.

"I'm sure...I... I want you... _need_ you, Daryl." Carol said, her voice low and husky. She crawled across the bed to him on her hands and knees and knelt in front of him on the mattress, finding the hem of his shirt and lifting it. Staring into her eyes he lifted his arms so she could pull it off over his head and throw it behind him and then before he could embrace her she slid her hands to his hips and under the waist band of his sweats and pushed them down, off his ass, her hands conforming to the fine rounded curves of each cheek.

"_God._" Carol sighed, "I've wanted to do that since the minute I saw you bending over my bathtub." Carol groaned, "Sorry if that makes you feel like a sex object." She apologized, letting her hands familiarize themselves with the muscled strength under the soft skin.

Since her exploration of him was bringing her soft full breasts with their stiff rosy peaks into contact with his chest, Daryl was willing to put up with a little objectification. He let his hands fall to the exact same place on her behind and cupped both cheeks in his big hands.

"Though I do believe it was my attention to _this _ass that started it all?" he reminded her and she shivered against him. "You ok? You cold?" he asked, leaning back so he could see her face, rubbing her back for warmth, all gentle concern and she shook her head at him side to side.

"Nervous?" he asked, "Scared?" again, she said no with a shake of her head.

_"Excited."_ she told him, her eyes wide.

"Ground rules." Daryl said seriously. "Anything you _don't_ want or like or anything you especially _do; _I need to know." He'd felt the smooth texture of the scars on her back just now, recognized them from his own experience. He brushed a kiss to her temple and spoke more quietly, his lips still against her there.

"I know he hurt you, Carol. I want this to be good for you—for both of us."

"I know it will be." Carol told him, and when he raised an eye brow at her questioningly, she added. "Because you _cared _enough to ask."

Ed had never cared. Not the first time, definitely not the last one, and none of the times in between.

"Well, all right then." Daryl smiled, pressing another kiss to her temple and releasing her so he could shed his sweats, leaving them on the floor, standing in front of her magnificently naked.

"I do believe it's your turn to decide what we do." Carol said mildly, "Since I got to have my roll in the hay."

"You didn't exactly _choose _to trip on the stairs..."

"Daryl, I am as sure-footed as a big horned sheep." Carol told him with a smug look.

_"Vixen!"_ Daryl snorted, pushing her back on the bed and looming over her. "Gonna have to get you back for that little trick." He told her and tugged her forward so her hips were at the edge of the bed, kissing her deeply as he curled his body over hers. He let his lips drift over her cheek and jaw, down her throat and then settled in for some long slow luscious licks with his strong soft tongue at each breast, suckling there until she was writhing and gasping under him, while his hands touched her everywhere, marveling at her pale lightly freckled silken skin. He found the damp curls at her core and slid one big finger in side, groaning at the textures of her slick petal soft folds. When he skimmed over the swollen bud he found there she whimpered his name.

_ "Daryl?"_

He lifted his mouth from her breast and looked up at her.

"Thought this was_ your_ turn?"she gasped as he continued to play with his finger against her.

"Just means I get to do stuff _I_ want." Daryl told her mildly.

"What you _want_?" Carol breathed.

"Wanna feel when you come apart—first with my mouth on you then with my cock up hard and balls deep inside you—and any other which ways we can think of—that ok?" he asked her in that deep gravelly sexy voice, never one to mince words, knowing he might be shocking her but needing her to understand what he wanted.

_"God yes."_ Carol sighed, relieved that he could be so direct with her. Her husband's sexual repertoire with her had been strictly missionary, acting as if anything else was too depraved for his wife to be required to do. The beatings had sometimes come when she'd tried to get him to try something different, accusing her of having affairs or reading dirty books—where else would she get such disgusting ideas?

Staring into her eyes Daryl let his finger slide forward and begin to push up into her, testing her depths and she cried out and grabbed at his wrist.

_"Oh baby, I'm sorry—_" Daryl began, feeling how tight and tensed she was, backing off.

"It's just... been awhile..." she told him, knowing she needed to relax.

"Got the cure for that." he smiled and knelt on the floor in front of her, nuzzling her belly and drawing her legs apart.

* * *

_**7:09 a.m.**_

"Mizz Carol?" Carl's young voice interrupted Carol's reliving of last night's excesses. Surprised, she turned too quickly and accidentally dropped the egg onto the counter where it landed with a sharp snap crack, the clear white leaking out onto the granite surface, the yolk still held inside by the cracked shell.

"Oops!" Carol said with a laugh, knowing that if that had happened a year ago she'd have ducked for cover for wasting the food her husband paid for by the sweat of his brow—as if the man ever sweated a day in his life unless he was forced to play golf without a golf cart.

"Well, looks like you just got started—Uncle Daryl said if I asked you'd make me some eggs." Carl said with a grin.

"Sure honey." she said, ruffling his mop of straight brown hair. "How do you like them?"

"Not burnt." Carl said with a huff. That really was his only requirement, especially when his mother was cooking.

"Scrambled ok? Like you said, I got a start on it with this one." Carol said with a smile.

"Can you put stuff inside it and flip it?" Carl asked, coming closer and looking up at the basket of eggs.

"You mean an omelet?"

"Yeah—with ham and cheese and onions and peppers, but no mushrooms, they're a fungus." the boy said with authority.

"Gotcha,_ no_ fungus." Carol said, nodding seriously. "Gotta break a few more eggs—want to help?" she asked him, pulling a stool over so he could stand up higher at the counter.

"Help you _cook_?" Carl asked, sounding astounded. "Uncle Shane says cookin' is women's work."

"Nonsense, a lot of the world's greatest chefs are men." Carol rooted around in the cupboards finding an omelet pan and the other ingredients and utensils necessary to fulfill Carl's request. She gave him a large spouted Pyrex measuring bowl and had him crack the eggs into it.

"See—sometimes you have to break something to create something even better." she told him as the egg batter cooked over the low gas flame while she sautéed the ingredients he had asked for in a second pan.

"How come horses don't lay eggs?" Carl asked, holding one of the broken shells up above his head to look at it more closely.

"Because they're mammals and mammals don't—the baby is in the mother's womb, which is like being inside an egg—but instead of storing the nutrients in a hard shell, the mother's own body provides them directly through the umbilical cord." Carol explained, her eyes looking a bit unfocused in thought.

"People are mammals too." Carl said, drawing Carol's attention back to him.

"That's right." she quickly agreed, her tone congratulating him for the knowledge.

"So right now lil'ass kicker's sucking her food through a straw inside my mom?"

"Lil'ass kicker?" Carol chuckled, "Let me guess, _Daryl _named her that."

"Yeah—my mom was real sick when she first got the baby inside and she threw up all day long. Daryl said the baby was kicking her ass—"

"And so Lil' ass kicker." Carol nodded, smiling.

"Mom said its bad luck to name the baby before it's born, so that won't be her real name anyhow." Carl explained very seriously, lest she think his sister would go by a name like that.

"I see. Well, I'll look forward to seeing what your folks decide to name her." Carol told him.

"You haven't asked me who was at the door." Carl said, watching carefully as Carol put the cooked ingredients over the partly cooked egg and then grated fresh cheese over top of it before she folded it over like closing a book. She put the lid on the pan and turned off the burner, letting the ambient heat in the pan finish the gentle cooking process. That was one of the keys to eggs, low slow heat.

"I'm sure he'll tell me if it's important." Carol said mildly, getting a plate and silverware out for Carl, herself and Daryl. "Do you want toast too?"

"I can do it." Carl said, going over to the toaster set into the kitchen island, lower so he could use it easily. They worked quietly, but she could tell Carl was dying to spill the identity of the person at the door.

"Do you think Daryl's guest will be joining up for breakfast?" Carol finally asked.

"Mrs. Dixon? She'd never been here before, so I don't know." Carl said with a frown.

"Mrs. Dixon?" Carol frowned back.

"Daryl's dad's wife but not his mom."

"His step mother?"

"Yeah, but she's not like the one in Cinderella or Snow White—she's real young and pretty." Carl said matter of factly.

"Oh she is, is she?" Carol asked, feeling a small frisson of jealousy.

"Yeah, but he doesn't look at her like he looks at you," Carl assured her.

"And how's that?"

"Like my dad looks at my mom—all sappy and lovey-dovey." Carl said with a hint of disgust. "I thought Uncle Daryl would stay cool like me n' Uncle Shane, but he went n' got sappy too..._Hey!"_ Carl yelped when Carol came up behind him and gave him a quick hug and kissed the top of his head.

"Sorry to get Daryl drummed out of the He-Man Woman Haters Club." Carol said, sniffing back the quick happy tears.

"Aw, that's ok." Carl said, embarrassed, "He's happy now, and dad says that's what's important."

"What'd I say was important?" Rick said as he wandered into the kitchen, wearing a Navaho blanket styled robe over his pajamas, his feet covered by suede slippers lined with lamb's wool. Yawning widely, he was followed by a very groggy looking Lori in a flannel nightgown with a blue checked large man's flannel shirt over top of it. Lori went directly to the coffee pot and just lifted the carafe to her nose and took a deep sniff.

"That Mizz Carol makes Uncle Daryl happy even though she's complicated." Carl repeated what he'd heard his parents say the other night. Carol glanced at Rick with a raised eyebrow, but he busied himself wrestling the coffee away from his wife and pouring himself a cup and then snagging an eclair out of the fridge and put it on a plate. Next he checked the water level in the tea kettle, surprised to find it already almost boiling hot, but shrugged and grabbed a mug and tea bag of Lori's herbal brew.

"I'm making eggs." Carol told him in exasperation, putting her hands on her hips.

"Great—I like mine over easy, as you may recall." Rick said, taking a big bite of the chocolate covered custard filled pastry and taking it and his coffee to join a grumpy looking Lori at the table.

_"Life's short—eat dessert first."_ Carl intoned, pointing at the legend someone had painted in stylized script above the door to the kitchen. He took his mom a piece of wheat toast liberally coated with butter, peanut butter and strawberry jam and a big glass of milk he'd already poured for himself.

"Bless you my son." Lori said thanking him right before she practically inhaled it.

"Why are you two so tired?" Carl asked curiously. He'd been up since 5 a.m. and felt fine.

Lori looked over at Rick and then the two of them looked at Carol.

"Uh—well, it was a little _noisy_ in our part of the house last night..." Lori said. Up in the second story loft, Carl was far away from the adult bedroom area of the house, a deliberate design feature in the renovations. However the _guest _bedroom was separated from the master by only one thin wall.

Carol bushed scarlet.

* * *

_**12:32 a.m.**_

"Oh –oh please—oh my god, _Daryl!"_ Carol cried out his name, holding onto the sheets for dear life as he sent her over the edge. He'd been true to his word. She'd come apart and was now limp and pliant in his hands, like soft melting wax or clay, ready to be shaped and formed into his vessel.

"You ready for me?" he asked and she felt his fingers again at her opening, and this time he could tell it brought a gasp of pleasure and not pain when he pushed one inside, holding it there against her still spasming walls. A second joined the first and he returned his mouth to her, wanting to feel her tighten down on him, sucking and licking and strumming at her trembling clit as she writhed against him. He slowly pumped his fingers forward and back, driving her insane with need, wanting more, wanting _him_.

_"Too much-not enough!" _she told him in seeming contradiction, yanking on his hair until he stopped and lifted his head to look up at her.

_"Carol?"_ he asked, his lips glistening from her juices, his high cheek bones flushed red, his eyes the deepest darkest blue...oh holy fuck he was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen in her life.

_"Ready."_ she nodded at him, her crystal blue eyes darkened with desire. He gave her a wolfish grin and reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a condom and stood up, in one smooth motion, wrapping her legs around his hips with his left hand while he bit open the condom wrapper and rolled it on with the right.

Still holding his cock in that hand he used the other to gently rub his thumb over her swollen clit, keeping his eyes on her face, patiently bringing her to another orgasm just as he pushed the tip inside. She bucked up against him, almost pulling him inside as she came, this time really screaming his name as she felt every long hard inch of him fill her.

Daryl groaned her name in reply and lifted her off the bed, both hands under her ass, her arms coming around his shoulders and neck to hold her against him. He turned and found the door the only uncluttered vertical surface to back her up against, having the consequence of rattling it loudly on its hinges with his every thrust, which didn't bother either of them, but was probably what first woke Lori and Rick. The whimpers, groans, moans and ecstatic screams were what had _kept_ them awake.

* * *

_**7:22 a.m.**_

"Seriously Carol, _Pookie?_" Rick said, popping the rest of the éclair in his mouth and chewing, enjoying ragging on her for the pet name she'd bestowed on a certain part of Daryl's anatomy.

"Oh. My. God." Carol said, putting her face in her hands. They'd heard _everything._

"That's Garfield's teddy bear, dad." Carl said matter of factly, referring to the lasagna loving cartoon cat.

_"Yes;_ yes it is, son." Lori said, glaring at her husband.

"So where is_ your_ Pookie bear, Carol?" Rick said, not giving up on teasing her.

"Daryl is out on the porch talking to his step mother." Carol announced, layering bacon and sausage links in the large frying pan, returning to cooking to calm and center her.

"K-Karen's here?" Rick spit, almost choking on the big gulp of coffee he'd taken to wash down the éclair.

"I saw her." Carl said, nodding.

"Of course—Tom Dixon would never sully himself to set foot on our property." Rick said bitterly. He tried to always find the good in people, but Daryl's father was someone he'd not had much luck with finding even a glimmer of the stuff.

"You think she's brought bad news?" Carol asked, concerned.

"I doubt if it's rainbows and puppies." Rick muttered sarcastically. Carl's ears perked up—he'd been begging for a puppy for weeks, ever since their old dog Blue had died. He touched the blanket sling he wore, checking his kitten, which was sleeping soundly despite all the human activity around it. He thought maybe he'd like to be a vet like Dr. Greene when he grew up. That and a Deputy like his dad and Uncle Shane.

_"Rick!"_ Lori said, a look of wonder on her face. She grabbed his hand and pulled it over to her belly, and he laughed in delight as he felt his unborn daughter kick.

* * *

_**1:34 a.m.**_

"I liked being pregnant." Carol said. They had dressed back in their night-clothes and robes and moved out onto the big porch swing, needing to have a serious discussion away from the temptation to start up the naked stuff and thangs again. Daryl was lying with his head pillowed on her lap and she was softly stroking his hair, marveling at how silky it felt against her fingers.

"You did?" Daryl asked.

He'd had three condoms in the box next to his bed and upon closer examination they'd found that they'd expired two years earlier. The present discussion was made necessary by the fact that the second one they'd used had broken quite spectacularly, a fact they discovered only after he'd removed it.

"Ed left me alone for the most part...and my parents stopped haranguing me for a grandchild. I could eat whatever I wanted... the only _other_ time I was happy in my marriage was the day I left him." Carol said, shrugging.

"You'd want another child? So soon after..." Daryl's voice trailed off. He didn't want to cause her any pain by saying her dead child's name.

"After losing Sophia?" Carol asked. "I'll always love my baby girl, Daryl, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't ever want another child."

"Are we crazy to even be talkin' about this?" Daryl asked, "I mean, this is all happening so fast..."

"Do you even want children, Daryl? _Ever?"_ Carol asked, sounding merely curious, not accusing or hurt. Often abused children didn't, not wanting to bring others in the world to possibly suffer as they had.

"Course I do...'specially if they're with you." he told her, looking up at her, his eyes wounded, hurt that she'd think otherwise.

"We just made all this ever more complicated, didn't we?" Carol said with a sigh.

"You know, my momma always told me, 'Sometimes you have to break something to create something even better...'" Daryl told her hopefully.

"I'm pretty sure she wasn't referring to condoms, Daryl." Carol returned dryly, making Daryl chuckle.

"What you said? When we was sittin' up in the haymow before?" Daryl asked, sitting up and taking her in his arms.

Carol nodded, looking into his serious, sweet, oh so dear face.

"Well, I'm fallin' in love here." he told her softly and rested his forehead against hers. "And if it happens, I'll love our baby too."

* * *

_**Aw, they're so sweet together! And possible Caryl babies are always wonderful, albeit complicated in this particular situation. Imagine how Phillip and Ed could use this against them...**_

_**Karen as trophy wife works for me; I think she got more than she bargained for with old Tom Dixon though, but she does try to help Daryl in the end. Wonder what's in that letter from Daryl's mother?**_

_**And yes, I laughed out loud when I discovered **__**what**__** exactly Carol nicknamed "Pookie"...and I'm laughing again writing it in the AN!**_

_**Read, fave, follow: love you all! Reviewers: let me know what you think of this one; )**_


	11. Chapter 11: Every rose has its thorn

**Daryl defends his decisions about Carol to Rick and Merle while the woman in question heads out to meet the psychiatrist hired by Andrea. A secret late night rendezvous brings our Caryl closer together in an unexpected way.**

* * *

"_**Every rose has its thorn."**_

_**Every rose has it's thorn  
Just like every night has its dawn  
Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song  
Every rose has its thorn**_

**_Though it's been a while now_**  
**_I can still feel so much pain_**  
**_Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals_**  
**_But the scar, that scar remains_**  
**_-_****lyrics by Poison**

_**Grimes farm entrance, 1:12 p.m.**_

Sitting out at the end of the farm road, taking their turn on watch after lunch, Rick looked over at Daryl who seemed particularly pensive. They were perched on the hood of the sheriff's department squad car, Rick in uniform and Daryl dressed in a pair of brown summer weight Carhart pants, well worn cowboy boots, a blue plaid western shirt, sleeves rolled up all the way to his biceps, and a disreputable, once white cowboy hat tipped back off of his face. He looked like the Marlboro Man's shaggy, dirty, sexy cousin.

"Spit it out Dixon. Considering the mornin'...and night... and mornin' you had you must have a lot on your mind." Rick said, half teasing, half serious, referring to both his friend's stepmother's visit and his amorous activities with Carol.

"So how long you and Lori try before she got pregnant with Lil'ass kicker?" Daryl asked, chewing on his right thumbnail, a bad habit for a plumber, itching for a smoke, wishing he hadn't given it up when Carl had begged him to after the school's big anti-tobacco campaign when the kid had been in third grade.

"Oh, you know, about two years I guess, why?" Rick's brow wrinkled at the odd question.

"Yeah, that about fits with the expiration date on the box of condoms you left for me in the nightstand..." Daryl said laconically, staring at the crossbow bolt he was now turning over and over in his hands.

"Used them last night?" Rick pulled a poker face, knowing very well what had gone on in the guest room. He'd stuck that opened box in there awhile ago figuring Daryl or Shane, who sometimes stayed over in the room if he'd had a few too many to drive back to his place in town, would have more use for them than he and Lori did after they'd decided to have a second child.

Daryl snorted and gave Rick a disgusted _you gotta be kidding me I know you heard everything _look.

"And?" Rick asked leadingly.

"Let's just say the expiration date is on there for a reason." Daryl said with a sigh.

"Broke?" Rick asked with a wince.

"Broke, shredded, _failed..._" Daryl drawled dramatically.

"Shit man—I'm sorry! She on the pill?" Rick asked, trying to find a way to put the best face on it.

"No real reason to be considering how she's been livin' the last six months." Daryl shrugged, leaning back on the windshield of the squad car and squinting his eyes against the sun before sticking the bolt back in his quiver and pulling his old straw cowboy hat down low over his face to block the glare, leaning back more fully on the squad's windshield.

"What _is _it with you and this woman, brother?" Rick asked, sounding worried.

"I think I love her, Rick." Daryl said quietly.

"_Damn it Daryl!_ You need to get your head on straight!" Rick said hotly, exasperated. "Screwing around's one thing, but love, hell, that's a _whole_ _other thang."_

"Thought you people been after me for years to settle down." Daryl said, still talking out from under his hat.

"Lori thinks everybody'd be better off paired up—damn woman's got a Noah's Ark complex or somthin'!" Rick snorted and Daryl had to chuckle along with him at that. Even before she got all broody and wanted another baby, Lori had been bound and determined to get both him and her brother fixed up with one of her friends or acquaintances, something they'd both resisted unless cornered.

"Maybe she's got a point." Daryl drawled and Rick just about fell off the car hood.

"What're you thinkin', man? Carol's still _married, _you're a suspect in an arson case, and you lost your job, your house!" Rick said hotly and Daryl threw off his hat, sat up and slid off the car to stand in front of his friend.

"I'm thinkin' a' _her_, Rick." Daryl said emotionally. "That's all...my head...my heart...it's just all full a' _her. _Ain't never felt like this about nobody."

"What if she's pregnant?" Rick asked, playing devil's advocate, trying to get Daryl to face reality.

"Then I'll be a father." Daryl said calmly, nodding and letting his face relax into a small serene smile that totally amazed Rick. "Get me some practice in with Lil'ass kicker—might be a bit rusty—been a long time since Carl was a baby."

"What about work? How are you going to provide for a family?" Rick continued to poke holes.

"SPS ain't the only game in town...Merle n' me could hang out our own shingle...hell, might even take on that two year Vet tech course Hershel's been on my ass about for years." Daryl said, spitting onto the dusty dirt lane.

Rick frowned at Daryl's equanimity. Was it really possible he was accepting a totally new path for his life so easily?

"Speak of the devil and he appears..." Rick muttered as the sound of an SPS service truck approaching their informal checkpoint at a relatively high rate of speed interrupted any further conversation. Both men came to attention and raised their weapons, Rick a Mossberg pump action shotgun and Daryl his crossbow, aiming at the vehicle before it came to a skidding stop.

"We need to have us a talk, Derle." Merle said, leaping out of his truck and strutting over to Daryl and Rick. "About that Carolina Wren fuckin' up yer life."

"Her name's _Carol."_ Daryl said, leaning against the side of the vehicle and lowering his bow, giving a pretense of relaxed calm, but Rick saw the muscle below his right eye twitch and how his finger remained on the trigger mechanism. Merle had helped Daryl out in prison, but there still wasn't a lot of trust for them to build on.

"_Whatever!"_ Merle spit out. "Looks to me like your life's pretty much gone to shit since you met _that _woman." Merle continued, his voice low and nasty, "Ain't never thought a' you as one to let yerself get led around by his _dick, _little brother."

To both Merle and Rick's surprise, Daryl laughed.

"If your dick just spent all night inside _that _woman's rose petal soft-," and then Daryl stopped, suddenly embarrassed to be waxing so poetical and looked down at the ground, clearing his throat before continuing. "Well, let's just say you'd follow her to hell and back." he finished, in a gravelly satisfied voice, looking up at Merle and holding his hand to his heart, making Merle's eye's bug out and Rick choke and sputter.

"Holy fuck, Officer Friendly." Merle said to Rick, shaking his head sadly, "He's a goner."

"Pretty much." Rick agreed, wondering how in the hell he'd come to be on the same side as Merle Dixon.

"Well, what're we gonna do about it?" Merle asked, ignoring Daryl who squinted and frowned at both his big brother and his adopted one.

"_Do_ about it?" Rick asked, raising an eyebrow. "I just spent half an hour reading him the riot act about how his life got so screwed up since he met her; not much else we can do."

"Could knock some sense into him," Merle said, tensing up his arms, hands forming into fists and going up on the balls of his feet like a boxer readying for a round.

Rick raised the shot gun and pointed it at Merle. Daryl's face was still bruised from the last time he'd had a 'difference of opinion' with the older Dixon brother.

"You ever touch him again and I'll blow your fucking head off." Rick said with quiet menace.

Merle turned slowly away from Daryl, pursing his lips and raising his hands in surrender.

"Now don't be that way, Deputy, ain't gonna hurt your sweetheart...but hey, looks like you got some competition for yer lil' hearts and flowers bromance..." Merle said in a syrupy sweet sarcastic tone. "Sounds like he found someone else he'd rather screw."

"It's _pathetic _that your fallback is always a slur against someone—gays, women, the race card." Rick said looking Merle up and down with slow contemplative disgust. "You know, if he and I were so inclined, Merle, I couldn't think of anyone I'd be more proud to have love me than your brother, but I'm pretty damn in love with my wife and it looks like Daryl's decided to throw me over for that sweet gal he's been keeping company with, so I guess we're both just shit outa luck."

Merle looked back and forth between the two friends, his jealousy over their closeness like a bitter pill caught in his throat, choking him. When Karen had come looking for Daryl that morning, gathering the youngest Dixon's things and informing him that he would now be the only tenant of the little house, Merle hadn't known what to do at first. He thought of going to their daddy and pleading Daryl's case, but he had feared, he had _truly feared_ that one or the other of them would wind up dead as a result.

Tom Dixon was just plain evil masquerading as an upright citizen, and Merle knew the truth of it, knew how and why his momma had ended up trapped inside that burning house. It was a secret he could never tell Daryl and it had poisoned their relationship ever since he'd retrieved Daryl from the Grimes farm 27 year ago.

All he had ever done, his whole life, was try to protect his baby brother. If _he_ hit him before their daddy did it meant less of a beating for Daryl—Merle knew how to pull his punches but make it look vicious. He'd tried to cut off this thing with Rick, nip it in the bud, knowing it would infuriate their daddy, hoping Daryl would return to his former hero worship of his big bro, but the ties forged in that cave when they'd been eight and after had proven too strong. Merle had to return to the Army or risk going AWOL again, so he'd had to leave Daryl in their daddy's house, hoping that Travis Grimes could keep an eye on him through the boys' friendship.

Today he'd come to try and make him see reason about the woman,_ Carol, _but he'd seen something different in Daryl as they talked, some new peacefulness and strength that surprised him... maybe instead of _ruining _his life she'd pushed it in a whole new direction.

_"...just shit outa luck." _Merle repeated Rick's words with a nod, except referring to his own tenuous relationship with his brother.

"I'll be by tomorrow after my hearin' to get my thangs." Daryl told his brother.

"Unless you're back at West Georgia Max..." Merle couldn't resist reminding him dryly. "...get tangled up with Blake's bunch up there again might get more'n that lil' scratch you came away with last time. Izzat sweet 'petal soft' gal worth it?"

"That's your main problem, you know that Merle?" Daryl said, slapping Merle a little too hard on the shoulder and chuckling, "Never could see the roses for the thorns."

* * *

_**Grimes house, 1:05 p.m.**_

"She ready to go?" Shane asked impatiently, coming into the living room where Lori sat with Carl on one of the big leather couches. They were trying to come up with a name for the new colt, scanning Carl's lists from his favorite _Star Wars _films.

Carol's appointment with the psychiatrist arranged by Andrea was that afternoon, a special session at the woman's office which was in her home over in Woodbury.

Daryl wanted to go with her, but since that was Blake's stomping ground, Andrea was driving out to the farm to pick her up instead, a fact that made the man who cared about her most very nervous for Carol's safety. As a compromise, Shane had eagerly agreed to go with them; a fact which made Lori suspect it wasn't just to placate Daryl.

"A little anxious to head out?" Lori asked her step brother with a hint of a teasing smile, "Andrea's not even here yet."

"Don't hurt to be punctual, now does it?" Shane said, checking his watch again. "C'mon Carol!' he yelled and then turned back to Lori and Carl, "What the hell's keepin that gal?"

Carol came into the room, wearing another of Lori's outfits, a simple red-orange scoop neck shirt with ¾ length sleeves over a flowing patterned skirt in reds, blues and greens that came just below her knees, with comfortable looking navy blue shoes. She had wrapped a long cerulean blue scarf around her neck several times in an artfully casual way and had let Lori talk her into dangling turquoise earrings in place of her usual simple pearl studs. A little make-up, mainly mascara emphasizing her already lovely eyes, completed the look. Instead of the drab brown wren she'd been dressed up as in her little suit, she now resembled a brightly hued songbird.

Even Shane noticed the difference, giving her an appreciative whistle that made Carol's cheeks pinken.

"Now_ that's_ what I'm talkin' about!" Shane crowed, doing a once around her, looking her up and down appreciatively. "Mmm _hmm_." he nodded, offering her his elbow to lead her out to the porch to wait for Andrea. Carol looked helplessly at Lori for guidance. She'd barely gotten used to the idea that Daryl found her attractive and here was another good looking man actually noticing her.

"Shane, _stop_—be nice!" Lori told her brother, worried that he was teasing her new friend.

"Now just hold on there, sister a' mine." Shane shot back, "Man's got an obligation to treat a lady with respect, especially one that's a tiny bit feeble."

"Feeble?" Carol sputtered indignantly, frowning hard at Shane, as did Lori.

"Why else would such an obviously _fine _woman get herself mixed up with the likes of surly ol' fox face Daryl Dixon?" Shane said, winking at Carol to let her know he was joshing with her.

"Oh, I don't know—some women find Daryl extremely attractive—all those tattoos, scars and muscles—so _manly._" Andrea's husky purr came from the doorway to the front porch. Carol couldn't help herself; she bristled with jealousy at the other woman's words. Andrea had said she knew Daryl in High School; had they _dated?_

"Some women include _you_?" Shane asked with a look of keen interest in her response.

_Maybe that's the way the cookie crumbled..._ Lori thought. If Shane was interested in Andrea, maybe that's why the _oh so ready_ to volunteer act escorting Carol. She glanced over at Carol, who was looking at Andrea with a frown, waiting for her reply to Shane's question as keenly as was he.

"I appreciate beauty in all its forms." Andrea said evasively. "Are we ready to go?" she asked them then, smiling. "The Doctor is waiting."

* * *

_**Grimes farm entrance, 1:22 p.m.**_

As the green Hyundai pulled up to where Rick, Merle and Daryl stood at the check point on its way back out of the Grimes farm, Carol felt her heart jump at the sight of the man she'd gotten to know so intimately last night. Andrea was right; Daryl was very _manly._ He had his black crossbow slung over his shoulder and stood with his hip cocked, that 'at ease' contraposto pose, which the Greek sculptors felt was the ideal position to show off the perfection of the male form. The cowboy hat he wore was pulled down low on his brow, reminding her of the way he'd worn his baseball cap the day she'd met him, so only his pointed bearded chin up to his cheekbones were visible. His shirt was pulled tight over his broad shoulders and his muscular arms strained against the sleeves.

Andrea slowed the car and rolled down her window to say hello to all three men, and Daryl tipped his hat in salute as he bent to look in the car through the passenger side, where Shane sat.

"Andrea, Shane." Daryl said in greeting, but then opened the rear door, reached in and undid Carol's shoulder harness so he could draw her out of the car and spin her around in the pretty clothes.

"Daryl?" Carol asked, wondering what he needed to tell her. They had spent half the morning back in bed, making plans and figuring out interesting things to do until one of them could get to town to buy a pregnancy test and some new condoms, though one might make the other moot.

"Just admirin' the view," Daryl grinned at her and she rolled her eyes at him. She'd said the same thing to him when he'd woken this morning to find her staring at him intently, still finding it hard to fathom that he wanted her. Carol reached out and brushed the fingers of her right hand against his left cheek, at the beauty mark there, needing to touch him.

"We still on for later tonight?" Carol asked him and Daryl nodded, staring into her eyes and nodding. She returned the nod and stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek in thanks, but he turned it into a full on kiss, which went on until Shane cleared his throat loudly and Merle muttered "_whipped"_ under his breath.

_ "Get a room."_ Rick kidded, "Oh _wait_—that's right—you already _did_—right next to the one I was tryin' to _sleep_ in!"

Laughing lightly, Carol and Daryl ended the kiss and looked over at Rick apologetically.

"We do have an appointment to get to, my dears." Andrea said dryly and with one last quick kiss Daryl released Carol to get back in the car.

* * *

_**Woodbury, office in the home of Dr. Michonne Kendall, 3:00 p.m.**_

"Thanks again for agreeing to do this on such short notice, Michonne."

"Anything for you, Ange." the dreadlocked African American woman said warmly, embracing Andrea with an affection that spoke of a long standing friendship.

"Michonne and I went to undergrad together at Georgia Southern in Statesboro." Andrea explained. "This is Carol Peletier, my client and our friend, Deputy Shane Walsh."

Michonne shook hands with Carol, noting the woman's slight nervousness, normal in this situation, and then held out her hand to the deputy who clasped it in a firm grip.

"Bodyguard or boyfriend?" Michonne asked, still holding Shane's hand, looking the man over skeptically. Shane narrowed his eyes at her.

"Whose?" he responded, and Michonne raised an eyebrow at him.

"Am I not up on the latest shipping news, Ange?" the psychiatrist asked Andrea, meaning the relationship gossip. As far as she knew Andrea wasn't dating this man, and he didn't answer to the name of the man Carol was under the protection of, Ange's old high school friend, Dixon.

"He's just a little extra insurance against Phillip Blake." Andrea said, frowning at Walsh's impertinence.

"I see. Good idea." Michonne nodded, "From what I know of Blake, this town would be better off electing Jim Jones...the man runs his organization like a cult. Have to think he'd run any town stupid or crazy enough to elect him the same way."

"What do you mean?" Andrea asked. If this was the man she was going up against in court and possibly delving into his business with Carol's husband on a more covert level, she needed to know as much as possible about him.

"Man requires a loyalty oath; in this day and age!" Michonne said in a tone that said how ridiculous she had found that requirement. "I was recruited by a friend to do a series of psych evals on his new security people—make a little extra money, some more professional contacts—but just being in his main office complex gave me the creeps."

"How so? The people hostile?" Shane asked with interest.

"No_—overly_ friendly in fact, but the architecture of the place was disturbing—it's built like a fortress, even down to the landscaping. All sorts of cactuses and prickly looking trees in some sort of southwest desert style." Michonne looked troubled as she continued, "Very austere, with thick walls and bullet proof glass. Place looks like he's ready to batten down for the Apocalypse if he needs to."

Carol and Andrea exchanged a worried look and Shane frowned, wondering just what exactly Daryl had brought to all of their doorsteps by drawing the attention of Phillip Blake.

"If he's behind this smear campaign against you and Mr. Dixon, we need to know everything he knows." Michonne told Carol, "So I suggest we begin."

* * *

_**Midnight, Albright Cemetery, Peachtree City, GA**_

"Merle took me once before he had to go back, but my daddy never would." Daryl said as he dug the hole in the still soft ground behind the headstone. "Summer after it happened, Rick n' I rode our bikes all the way out there to Roselawn once so I could take her some flowers and were so late gettin' back his mom called the police—course the police was Sheriff Grimes, so it was mostly just him findin' us and throwing our bikes in the back of his Bronco. Sad look on his face almost hurt worse than what my daddy would've done to me, he'd found out..."

"This is the first time I've been back here...since the funeral. I've wanted to do this...plant this...for months but I was afraid he'd find me here. I've never come back here, to Peachtree, in all that time. Thank you for coming with me." Carol said, loosening the soil in the pot around the roots of bush she'd brought to plant at her daughter's grave.

"When you said it was important I thought it might be somethin' to do with _her_...and what you remembered..." Daryl said, skirting close to the issue of what had happened at the psychiatrist's that afternoon. She hadn't yet told him anything about what had transpired, just asked if he could come with her, after dark, to the cemetery where Sophia was buried. They worked by the light of a big Coleman lantern he had brought from the farm which allowed them to see what they were doing when paired with the light of the full moon above them.

"Do you know the story of this?" Carol asked him, lifting the deep green bush with white flowers out of the plastic pot and bringing it to the hole he had dug for it.

"The flower?" Daryl asked, taking the plant from her and setting it down in the hole, making sure it fit there, seeing if he needed to dig deeper.

"The Cherokee Rose," Carol nodded as she poured out the water from the bucket onto the flower and Daryl stopped what he was doing and looked at her face. He nodded slowly and began to recite the story he'd been taught about the state flower of Georgia.

"The story is that when American soldiers were moving Indians off their land, on the Trail of Tears, the Cherokee mothers were grieving and crying so much 'cause they were losing their little ones along the way. Exposure and disease and starvation; a lot of them just disappeared. So the elders, they sent a prayer, asked for a sign to uplift the mother's spirits. Give 'em strength, hope. The next day, this rose started to grow right where the mother's tears fell." Daryl picked up one of the white tear shaped petals that had fallen off of one of the older blossoms. "I hope there's a flower bloomin' for my mother."

"They were Sophia's favorite flowers...we had them in the rose garden at the house...when I came home from the hospital...after... I...I couldn't look at them anymore. I ripped them all out with my bare hands..." She grimaced and held out her hands, palms side up and for the first time Daryl noticed the fine, barely perceptible white lines of the kind of scars that shallow cuts would leave on delicate skin, on her right wrist and palm. The other hand was obscured by the splint cast she still wore over her broken wrist.

"So why are we..." Daryl asked, puzzled, letting his voice trail off.

"It was selfish of me. To destroy something she loved...as if I wanted to forget her...I never want to forget her...so I want her to have this one here." Carol said, quiet tears finally coming then.

Daryl dropped the shovel and pulled her into his arms.

"This one...it blooms for your little girl." Daryl said in understanding, nodding.

Carol held him tight, comforted by his presence. She was glad she didn't have to do this alone, wishing again that Sophia could have known him.

"That's just gonna keep bugging me." Daryl said, releasing her and looking at the cut sod that had been laid over the grave.

"What?" Carol asked following his gaze.

"That they did such a piss poor job a' smoothin' out the dirt before they laid the sod. Must be some big rock caught under there." Daryl said and moved to use his shovel to pry up the end of the thick cut carpet of Kentucky blue grass that had been placed over top the fresh dug earth a few days after the funeral six months ago.

"It's fine, Daryl, don't worry about it." Carol said from behind him, uneasy about how long they'd already been on their clandestine mission in the closed cemetery.

"Just take a minute. Want your Sophia's place to look nice." he said in a serious solemn, respectful voice that made Carol give a small smile at his caring so much about a little girl he'd never met.

"All right." Carol acquiesced, gathering up the plastic container that the rose bush had come in and putting it inside the now empty bucket they'd filled at the nearby water faucet. She stepped back to admire how perfect the flowers looked there behind the pink granite stone with birth and death dates far too close together.

"Oh_ fuck_ no..." Daryl said, reeling back, tripping over the headstone, twisting to try to avoid falling into the roses, forcing Carol to drop what she was doing and catch him, making them both hit the ground, right on top of the roses and the muddy pile of dirt left over from the hole he'd dug.

"Daryl? What the hell?" Carol said, feeling the wet earth start to soak through the seat of her jeans, the thorns of the flowers claw at the back of her thin sweater.

_ "Don't look!"_ he said in a low intense voice, but she had to, had to know what he had seen that had caused him to recoil so violently. He tried to hold her back, but his hands slipped on the mud covering her and she pulled free and scrambled to her feet, peering over the grave marker.

There, underneath the square of sod that Daryl had removed was a face covered in clear plastic.

A dead man's face.

Ed Peletier's face.

* * *

**_Well! Leave it to Ed to continue to possibly mess up Carol's life even in his dying..._**

**_I couldn't find a last name listed for Michonne anywhere, so I gave her one based on one of my favorite strong female warrior women, Kendra the vampire Slayer: )_**

**_Read, favorite, follow, review, you make my days & nights happy when I hear from you & I can use it about now since _****_I have been stuck in an airport since Sunday night (it's Tuesday as I write this) trying to get home after Christmas. _**

**_Hope everyone else is home safe & warm._**

**_DD1_**


	12. Chapter 12: Demons

_**We pick up immediately after Carol and Daryl found something unexpected**** under the sod over Sophia's grave and some familiar faces show up at the cemetery.**_

_**Slight smut warning.**_

* * *

_**Demons**_

"_At the curtain's call  
It's the last of all  
When the lights fade out  
All the sinners crawl_

_So they dug your grave  
And the masquerade  
Will come calling out  
At the mess you've made"  
- _by Imagine Dragons_  
_

"I—I don't understand—what's happening? Ed-Daryl-_ Ed?" _Carol swayed, holding herself up with both hands clutching at the pink granite stele carved deep with the name of her dead child. She looked in disbelieving horror at the staring bulging bloodshot eyes of her husband, cold opaque blue, seeming to be crying fresh tears as the condensation from the plastic over his face dripped down on to his forehead and ran down onto his cheeks.

She felt Daryl's strong arms come around her then and she leaned back against him, letting him be her support.

Daryl's mind was racing—_what the fuck were they supposed to do now?_ Here in the middle of the night, covered with the same cemetery dirt as the corpse... What right minded person _wouldn't_ believe that his wife and her lover were here disposing of his body in the fresh grave of the child whose murder they suspected him of covering up?

"We have to see—make sure he's dead—" Carol said, her instinct to help, to make sense of this coming to the fore. "Maybe he's just—" she moved forward, but Daryl held her back.

"_Carol_—sweetheart, I'm sorry—but it's just...it's just his _head_." Daryl explained with his mouth at her ear. He felt her startle back, her knees giving out and caught her before she fell again.

"Oh God—_oh my God_!" Carol turned away from the sight of the thing; now facing Daryl and he hugged her close, his hand holding her head to his shoulder, smoothing her hair gently.

"We need to get out of here." Daryl said quietly, "You _know_ how this looks."

"We can't just...leave it...him... there..." she said, struggling with the pronouns, "_Daryl we_ _can't just cover it back up and go._"

"Well, what the fuck do you suggest? Hang around until someone comes and arrests us for murder?" Daryl said in a harsh whisper, clearly starting to freak out a little, moving his grip to her shoulders, holding her in place while he stared back over her shoulder at the big bald head of that scumbag of a husband of hers encased in what looked like a big Ziploc bag staring up at them from under the chunk of turf he'd dug up.

"But we didn't do anything wrong!" Carol said, trying to keep from panicking. She took Daryl's face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "We need _help_, Daryl."

"_Help?" _Daryl frowned down at her like she was crazy_. What they needed to do was run far and fast_ _as if demons from hell were chasing them._

"Who do you trust?" she asked him, looking deep into his eyes, "Who can _we_ trust?"

* * *

"This better be good, Dixon—I was on a _date._" Glenn Rhee said with a snarl, joining Carol and Daryl at the booth in the back of an all night diner on the outskirts of Peachtree City at just past 2 a.m. Glenn was dressed a bit more formally than his usual baseball jerseys and jeans with a ball cap, this early morning in a pair of Converse kicks, dark tweed dress slacks, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black vest and skinny tie—hipster chic.

"With Maggie?" Carol asked, "Or Amy?" trying to lighten the mood until the other person whom they'd called arrived.

"Miss Greene was the recipient of my attentions this evening, if you must know." Glenn said with a smile that quickly faded when he saw the muddy clothes both of them were wearing, though they were partially concealed by the table top.

"You two been mud wrestling?" Glenn asked with a raised eyebrow. Daryl he was used to seeing dirty, but it didn't fit his image of Carol one bit.

"Som'thin like that." Daryl said, giving his standard evasive answer.

"You need to tell me what's going on, is it—" Glenn began, but was forestalled by the arrival of the waitress, a seasoned night shift pro in a peach colored uniform who didn't blink an eye when the muddy couple had come in and commandeered a booth about an hour ago.

"What can I getcha, sugar?" the petite middle aged woman with pretty curling blonde hair that fell to her shoulders asked with a wink, clearly flirting, though she had about fifteen years and a whole lot more miles on her than the young P.I.

Glenn looked at her name tag which read "Patricia" in fancy script and smiled up at her. He'd been around waiters and waitresses his whole life in his parents' restaurants and knew the look of a veteran when he saw one.

"Java saves, Patty." Glenn said with a soulful grin and she laughed and tucked her pencil beside her ear and her pad back in her white apron pocket.

"All around—and pie I'd say—got some nice peach out fresh." Patricia said, canting her head at him and raising both brows in entreaty.

"Warm it up n' add a scoop and you gotta deal." Glenn said happily; even though it was as cliché as hell to be eating peach pie in Peachtree City, it was his favorite.

"Expectin' one more, right?" Patricia asked, looking back over her shoulder at the harried looking blonde in jeans, black sweater, great looking suede boots and a leather jacket striding towards them and Carol nodded.

Andrea stopped briefly when the waitress asked her if she wanted anything and then joined them, sliding in beside Glenn and tossing her clutch purse on the table.

"What the_ fuck_ do the two of you not understand about keeping away from each other out in public?" she said in a low angry voice, looking back and forth between Daryl and Carol, but then she focused on the female half of the couple, "And what the hell are we doing _here_? In your home town?"

Carol looked at Daryl before she spoke and he looked over at Glenn and then Andrea and sighed, but shook his head up and down, making a go ahead gesture with his hand, telling Carol to speak first.

"We came up here to visit my daughter's grave...after today with Michonne I needed to do something for Sophia...I hoped it would help me remember more..." Carol told Andrea.

The session with the psychiatrist had started out well, Carol under hypnosis able to recall the day's events up until she saw Sophia run out of the house, but then it was as if her brain had shut down, refusing to let her relive those moments, still too traumatic to process.

Michonne had suggested perhaps she hadn't properly been able to mourn the girl because she'd been forced to flee so suddenly after Ed's brutal treatment; asked if there was anything she had left undone or regretted. Carol thought of planting the flowers, even just returning to the grave, which she'd been unable to do since she'd left home.

"We thought if we came at night there would be no chance of running in to Ed..." Carol swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump in her throat, tears filling her eyes. Daryl took her hand and continued when he saw that she couldn't, leaning forward in closer to Andrea and Glenn.

"Brought a rose bush to plant at the grave side—little girl's favorite...but somebody else'd already planted somthin' there first." Daryl said in a low voice, glancing up and sitting back straight as Patricia approached carrying two new cup set ups and a carafe of coffee.

"Be right back with the pie." she said to Glenn, looking at the other three in turn. "Y'all sure you don't want some? Damn fine pie."

Carol looked like she was going to vomit and held her free hand to her mouth and shook her head no.

"No thanks, Patty. Just me. Some water too, please?" Glenn answered for everyone and the waitress nodded obligingly and bustled off.

_"What?"_ Andrea bit out. Getting called out of her comfy bed in the middle of the night was bad enough, but having to explain to her lover that she couldn't say where or why she'd been going was a pain in the ass and she knew she'd pay for it later. She was not in a patient mood.

"A body—well—_part _of one." Daryl said in a whisper, leaning close again. "One that didn't belong there."

"Fuck me..." Glenn murmured, looking at Carol and shaking his head. Trouble followed that woman around like a jilted stalker.

_"Shit."_ Andrea intoned, gritting her teeth and leaning forward over the table and looking Daryl right in the eye. "But you had _nothing_ to do with putting it there."

"I swear on my mother's grave." Daryl said tightly.

"I'll swear on my daughter's." Carol said, with her face a study in fierce controlled righteous indignation.

"Considering that's where we're heading next, I'll hold you to it." Andrea said dryly.

"And do we have an I.D. on this '_part'_?" Glenn asked, wondering what exactly they had found, but everyone suddenly sat up straight and put on fake shiny happy looks as Patricia delivered his pie and glass of water.

"Thanks, darlin'." Glenn smiled wide at the pleasant woman. It looked like she'd given him at least a third of a pie and a scoop of ice cream as big as a baby's head. He dug in and took a big bite while she waited to see if he liked it. It was excellent, just as she'd promised and he nodded his approval with his mouth still full of pie.

"Secret's in the crust—baker uses good old fashioned lard, ice cold." Patricia told them. "Doin' ok on coffee?" she asked and when they all said no she hurried off again.

"It's his head." Carol blurted. Andrea's eyes went wide and Glenn swallowed the big bite of pie with an audible gulp, coughing until Andrea whacked him on the back and Patricia started back towards him with concern, but he waved her off, taking a drink of his water to clear his throat.

"_Whose_ head, Carol?" Andrea asked, dreading the reply.

"Who the fuck do you think?" Daryl asked, quietly seething now, "Same sum'bitch that's been screwin' with our lives." Glenn and Andrea exchanged an '_Oh shit'_ look.

"We need to go—_now._" Andrea said, standing. "Take us there."

Glenn wolfed down two more bites of the luscious pie and then regretfully stood as well.

"What're you going to do?" Carol asked, standing now as well, drawing Daryl up with her.

"Save your asses." Glenn said with a wry grin, leaving two twenties, about twice the tab, on the table.

* * *

"And so your client came all the way up here to visit her daughter's grave in the middle of the night?" the intense Peachtree City Detective asked Andrea, a skeptical look on his bearded face. The medium height African American man spoke with clipped precision with only a light southern accent softening a few words. Detective Morgan Jones had an air of quiet dignity and perhaps sadness, as if something haunted him, giving him gravitas.

"She didn't want to take the chance of running into her estranged husband Mr. Peletier, Detective Jones, who as you know was up on charges of spousal abuse. We have a filed protection order as you can see." Andrea said evenly, indicating the folder she had already given him.

"And her _'friend'_ Mr. Dixon?" the detective asked, looking at the mud covered muscular man leaning on the side of the Jeep Cherokee next to the pale red eyed equally muddy wife of the dead man.

"As I said, she was afraid of her husband and Mr. Dixon was kind enough to accompany her here as a sort of bodyguard." Andrea replied.

"He a private eye or somthin' in Senoy?" Jones drawled.

"Actually Mr. Dixon is a plumber." Andrea said and the detective snorted out a chuckle and shook his head.

"He her boyfriend?" Jones asked, noting the subtleties of body language between the two. Though not embracing overtly or holding hands, the plumber stood so that the point of his hip touched her waist, pushing in to the curve of her body like it belonged there.

"I'm not sure that is relevant at this juncture, Detective." Andrea said stiffly, cursing inwardly at the two of them, standing too close together even after she'd warned them...

"It's _all_ relevant, counselor." Jones drawled.

"Detective Jones—are you ready for me yet?" asked a pale bespectacled man with sandy brown hair wearing Medical Examiners white coveralls and booties, standing impatiently behind the police tape, holding his kit box in his left hand.

"You got Miguel with you for pictures?" Det. Morgan Jones asked the M.E., Milton Mamet, a man great at his job but a little eccentric, like most people who made a living looking into the faces of the dead for clues as to how they got that way.

His intern, Miguel, was somewhat of a work in progress. He'd come down from Atlanta about three months ago on a special program geared to getting deserving talented kids out of the gangs. The Vatos that he'd been mixed up with had included his cousin Felipe who'd already gotten himself out and gone to nursing school. He'd reached out to Miguel and after two years in a tech college the former gang member was working on a degree in graphic design, but his first love was photography. Looking for an internship, he'd landed in Peachtree under the guidance of Mamet, doing crime scene photos.

Mamet nodded and Jones motioned him forward, introducing Andrea.

"It makes no difference to me if she's here, Morgan, but for chain of evidence purposes it's best she wait outside the taped area for now." Mamet told the detective and Andrea nodded, stepping back as the other two techs came forward to gather evidence, both men coming under the tape with their equipment. Lights had already been set up around the scene and Miguel had done the overhead shots needed while standing on top of the ten foot ladder they carried with them in the truck.

"_Freaky_—someone just planted him there?" Miguel said, looking at the plastic encased head, sounding awed. When he'd started working in the ME's office, he'd thought he'd be weirded out by being around bodies all of the time, but like Mamet he found them fascinating. He moved around the scene taking video and still color shots of everything, careful to place a ruler beside each item, finally signaling that he was done so the techs could come forward to start collecting and bagging evidence.

"That's gonna screw with my T.O.D." Mamet said, pursing his lips at the plastic bag. "When we're done here make sure you take all of the turf and soil for a three foot perimeter around the remains," he ordered the techs. The taller one groaned a little at the demand.

"_Basta, vatos!_ El Jéfe has spoken." Miguel chided. The Boss might be a little odd, but he was still the boss and didn't need belly aching from anyone. The taller tech stoically went to the perimeter and got out a large evidence box and a shovel.

"Excellent." Milton said, unfolding a white drape sheet and spreading it out on the sod covered ground between the grave where the head rested and the next one. Leaning over it he very carefully lifted the partial remains of Ed Peletier in his vinyl gloved hands and placed it in the center of the sheet. Miguel filmed all of the actions.

_"Don't look."_ A hoarse male voice said from somewhere behind them and both Mamet and Miguel turned to see who had spoken. Standing next to one of the cars parked on the access road to this section of the cemetery was a couple. The man was embracing the woman, keeping her body and face turned away from the grave while he stared at the M.E. and his workers.

"Wife." Said Detective Jones as he joined them, squatting to look down at the head. Miguel nodded, but Mamet was too busy examining the remains, which he left encased in the make-shift Ziploc shroud.

"Male, Caucasian, late thirties, early forties, head recently shaved." Milton intoned for the benefit of the recording device. At Jones' questioning grunt, the M.E. pointed to the tan lines versus the pale scalp. "Cuts and scrapes on scalp would seem to indicate he fought it, some bruising at the temples and jaw, chin. Petechiae in right eye might indicate strangulation." He rolled the head so that the place where it had been severed from the neck was visible. "Defenestration…dismemberment of head at third vertebrae."

"Damn that looks clean…what kind of a blade would do that?" Miguel asked.

"Something extremely _sharp._" Mamet said slowly, contemplating the wound site. "Won't know more until I get this back to the lab." He motioned to the shorter tech, who brought him a large square cardboard box.

"No evidence of any additional limbs or organs?" Jones asked, squinting at the sight of the M.E. lifting up the head, carefully placing it in the container and then sealing it with an inventory label.

"So far no, we'll excavate the grave and any nearby that have newer sod just to be sure." Mamet told him.

The tech lifted the box and nudged Milton with his elbow, saying under his breath, "What's in the _baahx?" _and grinning.

Mamet looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"Brad Pitt, man! _Seven?"_ the tech said in disbelief. "You know-the _film_?"

"I don't like to sit in chairs where other people have already sat." Mamet said with a shrug and taking out a plastic cup from his kit went back to the grave site to look for any maggots or other insect activity on the grave.

The tech looked at the Detective and Miguel, shaking his head.

"But he'll stick his hand up a dead dude's ass…" the tech muttered, heading back to the truck.

"No glove, no love, man." Miguel said, snapping his blue vinyl protective gloves loudly and grinning.

"A little decorum, Miguel." Milton said in a no nonsense tone, "This is a graveyard."

"Yes sir." Miguel immediately sobered.

"We need photos of everyone's shoes that have been on the scene—start with the cowboy over there; most of these seem to have been made by his boots." The M.E. said, indicating Daryl.

"Just _that _one and not the other ones?" Miguel said, pointing in the opposite direction, at the two very angry looking King County Sheriff's deputies who were just getting out of their squad car.

"Oh _shit..."_ Daryl said softly.

* * *

"Daryl, you need to get some sleep... your hearing is in four hours." Carol said from the bed, watching Daryl as he paced back and forth across the bedroom like a caged wolf. Rick had read him the riot act—again—about his reckless actions as far as Carol was concerned, and ever since they had returned to the farm Daryl had been like a grenade after the pin had been pulled; it was only a matter of time until he blew.

They'd been held for questioning and then remanded into Rick and Shane's custody. Andrea had done some fast talking to make it happen, pointing out that since the last time Ed Peletier had been seen alive was by his office employees leaving work on Friday, the fact was that Daryl had been either in prison or at the farm with the Grimes and numerous other witnesses during the interval between then and when the head had been discovered. Likewise, Carol had never been alone during that time, so either of them committing the murder was extremely unlikely.

What had set Daryl on edge was the idea that Blake would use this against him in court, but even more of a concern was the way that Rick was acting when it came to his relationship with Carol.

When she was being questioned, Andrea with her in the interrogation room as her advocate, Shane observing from the other side of the one way mirror, Rick had button holed Daryl in another room, with Glenn looking on stoically, standing leaning against the wall as Rick sat, half his ass on the table, perched sideways.

"Daryl, this has got to stop." Rick told him. "Someone's dead now as a result of this."

"What do you mean? Don't got nothin' to do with Carol n'me, that asshole turnin' up dead." Daryl said belligerently from his seat at the table. "Fucker was into somethin' _wrong;_ we all smelled it from what Glenn found out. Just need to get in there and find proof."

"He's right Rick—the deeper I try to dig into Blake's business and personal life the weirder it gets." Glenn volunteered. "He took his daughter out of school when his wife died and has apparently been home schooling her, but she's rarely been seen in public since. Keeping a kid locked up like that—it's all kinds of wrong."

"Doesn't change the fact that Daryl needs to keep his nose clean so we can get the arson charges dropped." Rick told Glenn, squinting hard at Daryl and then addressing him directly.

"What were you thinking running off in the middle of the night with her—not tellin' me where you were going?" Rick asked heatedly. He'd been shocked to find Daryl and Carol gone from the guest room when the room next door had been silent in the night, and then saw that her Cherokee was missing as well.

For a heart stopping second or two he'd wondered if they'd just _left,_ run for the border, escaped before their respective days in court, like some later day Romeo and Juliet. Then frankly he'd worried that Peletier had threatened or hurt Carol again and Daryl had gone after him. Andrea's phone call brought him the truth, and he didn't like it much better than the other scenarios he'd imagined.

"You ain't my daddy—and even if you were I stopped tellin' _him_ my every move a long time ago." Daryl bit out, crossing his arms in front of his chest and thrusting his stubborn chin out, angry and hurt that Rick didn't sound much like he trusted either him or Carol. "And you got no right to tell me who I can be with. Told you how it is, ain't gonna tell you again."

"You _love _her, right, heard you...but the hell of it is, Daryl—do you even know who she really _is_? What_ demons_ she carries? You've known her less than a week..." Rick asked, leaning on the table in front of Daryl. "You've known _me_ most of your life—who do you think deserves your trust and loyalty more?

"Don't _make _me choose, Rick." Daryl said, his eyes sad and disappointed.

* * *

"Daryl? Honey?" Carol said softly, sounding worried. She'd gone from mourning mother to widow in the space of a few hours, even while being the happiest she could ever remember just by being with the man pacing in front of her. She needed him with her now, to feel his strong arms around her, holding her tightly, telling her that everything would be ok; even if it was a lie...he made her demons run...

Daryl stopped pacing and looked over at her, all soft and safe in his bed. After they'd returned to the house he'd been surprised to find T-Dog standing watch at the front gate with a hunting rifle and Hershel sitting on the porch swing with a pump action shot gun. Rick was obviously taking the threat posed by Blake seriously and hadn't been about to leave Lori and Carl unprotected while he and Shane had made the trip to Peachtree City.

"Never called me that before," Daryl said with a tiny smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

"Honey?" she asked. He walked over to the bed and she looked up at him uncertainly.

"I like it." he told her, tilting his head to the side and putting his hands on his hips. He was wearing only the low slung sweats he'd pulled on to keep from shocking Lori if he'd run into her in the hall when he'd come from the bathroom after a quick shower to wash of the cemetery mud.

He'd been tempted to join Carol for her's, but had instead gone for a walk around the yard, greeting Hershel, stopping at the barn to check on the colt, smiling when he saw the printed new name written in Carl's childish hand, taped to the carved wooden name plate for Flame;_ Falcon_, as in Millennium.

"Come to bed." Carol said, but Daryl took both a step back and a deep breath.

"You should know. I could've killed him. If he'd hurt you again. I have that violence in me." Daryl said quietly, needing her to understand that. He knew that's part of what Rick feared for him, that his feelings for Carol could fuel that protective rage.

"But you _didn't."_ Carol said softly, drawing the covers back and rising from the bed, coming to him. "We all have our demons, Daryl." she said reaching up and turning his arm to expose the small devil he had tattooed on his right inner bicep, "Ed was one of mine," she said, pressing a kiss there, "and what happened to Sophia..." she lifted her hand to his shoulder, turning him to she could see the two other demons climbing there, brushing her fingertips lightly over first one and then the other as she spoke. "And you have your father...what happened to your mother...but that doesn't mean we have to let them destroy us." Putting her arms around his waist, her head sideways against his shoulder blade, Carol could feel the heat of his body through the Grateful Dead t-shirt that had become her go-to night gown.

Daryl sighed, wondering what it was about her very presence that gave him the feeling that no matter what, everything would be fine. He wanted to be that for _her;_ her knight in shining armor, her St. Michael throwing Lucifer down to hell, forever banishing the forces arrayed against her. If Blake thought he could destroy them, he was dead wrong.

"Come to bed, Dixon." Carol said again, but this time her hand drifted lower, to his abs, following the curve of his hip around to push under the elastic waist of his sweats at the front.

"Are you angling to have your way with me, woman?" Daryl said with a small smile, inhaling sharply when her small cool hand closed over him.

"Come to bed."

* * *

"Don't close 'em." Daryl said as he leaned above her, stroking slowly up and back in her luscious wet softness. He loved how she took all of him deep into her body, welcoming him home, digging her fingers into his ass, urging him on. He could tell she was close from the way she shook and how her breathing became erratic, her mouth open, gasping and moaning and giving uncontrolled high pitched little cries as he moved within her. The pleasure was so overwhelming that she'd closed her eyes against it, trying to will herself not to slip over the edge yet, waiting for him to fall with her.

Carol opened her eyes and locked them with his, burning blue, felt the scratch rub of his chest and belly against hers as he moved, felt the way he filled her, how his hips slid in their mingled sweat.

"Never saw that same blue before." Daryl marveled at her crystalline gaze, "like...like the purest summer sky...wanna see you come with me...see the light burn there...for _me._.."

Carol felt herself tip over the precipice, free falling...saw the same in his gas flame blue eyes, burning for _her._

"I love you." Daryl gasped, kissing her with more passion than he'd ever felt before.

God help anyone who tried to hurt her.

"_Your eyes, they shine so bright  
I wanna save that light  
I can't escape this now  
Unless you show me how_

_When you feel my heat  
Look into my eyes  
It's where my demons hide  
It's where my demons hide  
Don't get too close  
It's dark inside  
It's where my demons hide  
It's where my demons hide"  
_

* * *

**_More character's from TWD will continue to make appearances as the story unfolds, I hope you enjoyed Patricia, Morgan, Milton and Miguel here; )_**

**_I kept hearing the Imagine Dragons' song "Demons" on the radio throughout Christmas Break and the sections I've used of it in this chapter really fit well with where the story was taking me._**

**_Thanks for all of the encouraging notes in your reviews, I really appreciate the feedback!_**

**_Hello to all of the followers and favorites-don't be shy about leaving a review, I'd love to hear what you think._**

**_DD1_**


	13. Chapter 13: Appearances

_**Carol and Daryl prepare to face the false accusations against them and discover some important truths beneath outward appearances.**_

**Trigger warnings****:**_** Domestic abuse and implied child abuse.**_

* * *

_**Appearances**_

"He's not yours, you know...and despite appearances, he's not mine either." Carol said as she looked out across the yard, standing on the front porch, watching Daryl and Carl coming back from doing morning chores at the horse barn.

She hadn't gotten much sleep last night, yet she felt oddly awake...alert, as if the sun shone brighter, the air was crisper than she ever remembered it being. Ed was dead..._and Daryl had told her he loved her..._

"You'll go while he's at the courthouse." Rick said from the porch swing. "I'll explain it to him."

Rick believed he was protecting his friend, his brother, his wife and children. _The people Carol was close to ended up dead, _he thought to himself.

"He'll come after me." Carol said, not looking at Rick. She understood why he wanted her to go. She felt tremendous guilt over the danger she was putting everyone in by staying here.

"Andrea has arranged a safe house for you; he won't find it." Rick told her. "I'm sorry but I can't have you here anymore; my children—"

"I understand." Carol interrupted. "I'll keep with working with Michonne, see what I can remember. Hopefully it'll be something to use against Blake, so I can testify against him."

"It'll be Federal then—Blake does business across state lines. They'll want to put you in witness protection." Rick said, making sure she knew what the consequences would be if she followed through.

Carol wiped a tear off of her cheek and her mouth trembled.

"He'll be safe then...you all will be...if no one knows where I am." she agreed, nodding and moving to the top step as Daryl and Carl came closer.

"Mizz Carol, you should see him! Falcon! We put the halter on him and he pranced around the stall like a little prince!" Carl said enthusiastically.

"That's wonderful, Carl." Carol told him, smiling a bit too brightly.

"We'll turn them out in the paddock when I get back this afternoon, ok buddy?" Daryl said, smiling and putting his hand on Carl's shoulder.

"Why don't you head inside, son. I need to talk to your Uncle Daryl." Rick said in a calm voice of command. Daryl's eyes narrowed as he looked back and forth between Carol and the lawman, noticing that the tip of her nose was pink and her eyes looked a little red. Something had upset her.

Carl looked up at Daryl questioningly, sensing an unusual tension between him and his father.

"It's ok, Carl. Go on in." Daryl said, giving him a little push towards the door.

Reluctantly the boy went inside, closing the door behind him.

"What did you say to her?" Daryl asked Rick, his voice low and face impassive.

"Nothing—I'm fine, Daryl." Carol said quickly, taking his arm. He slid his hand down and laced his fingers with hers.

"She's not going with us to the courthouse." Rick told Daryl and saw his friend's chin come up in defiance. "You know it could prejudice your case if people saw..." he pointedly looked at their clasped hands, "...how you are with each other."

Before Daryl could protest, Carol tugged on his hand, forcing him to look at her.

"I have another meeting with Michonne today, Daryl. I need to see her so we can figure this all out."

"And the news about Carol's husband will be all over the media—you don't want to subject her to that circus, do you?" Rick added, making a good point. They were probably going to get some blow back even with just Daryl today when people got wind of he and the newly widowed Mrs. Peletier's relationship.

"Andrea will be here soon to go over everything with you. Go get changed for court." Rick ordered Daryl, who bristled at his tone of command.

"Who's goin' with Carol to the headshrinker's place?" Daryl asked stubbornly, not moving an inch.

"Shane and Glenn. She'll be safe, Daryl, don't worry." Rick said in a less demanding tone, trying for conciliatory.

Lori came to the porch door then, tipped off to the tension by Carl when he'd come into the kitchen.

"How are we doing out here?" Lori asked, pushing the screen door open.

"Fine." Rick said tightly, echoing Carol's earlier response to Daryl, neither of them being truthful.

"I'm sorry about your husband, Carol." Lori said, not sure if the sentiment was appropriate, but needing to acknowledge the loss.

"I wish I could say I was." Carol said sadly, knowing now after her time with Daryl that she'd never loved Ed. "He wasn't...right...and I think that got him killed." she looked up at Daryl who gave her a small sad half smile half grimace of understanding. "I'm not sorry." Carol repeated and no one said anything for a couple of minutes.

"I'm thinking of making pancakes for breakfast." Lori said, trying to change the mood and also entice them back inside. Remembering their earlier discussion of Lori's many pancake disasters Carol involuntarily chuckled and even Daryl and Rick visibly relaxed.

"I'd be glad to lend you a hand—least I can do." Carol said, taking a step towards Lori, volunteering so they'd have something edible for breakfast.

"After she helps me pick out somthin' to wear for court," Daryl interjected, refusing to release Carol's hand.

"Your things are still mostly at the other house—I put a couple of Rick's suits in your room." Lori told him, looking him up and down. "You're still about the same size."

"Thanks—appreciate that." Daryl said, taking a step forward and brushing a quick kiss to Lori's cheek.

"There's scissors in there too—at least trim the bangs back a little so the judge can see those baby blues, ok?" Lori requested, reaching up to push the hair back off his forehead.

Daryl frowned at her and looked back to Carol who nodded in agreement with Lori.

"And don't get _too_ distracted when his clothes come off," Lori shook her finger at Carol, who widened her eyes innocently. "Oh, who the hell am I kidding...just don't make him late for court."

"Or pancakes." Daryl grinned a little and pulled open the screen door, leading Carol inside.

Lori waited until they had passed through the foyer and into the living room before she moved to sit beside Rick on the porch swing. She didn't look at him, instead staring at the farm buildings in front of them, her hands across her big baby belly.

"Why can't you just let them be?" Lori asked Rick.

"Because it's my job to watch out for my family," Rick said, that note of iron willed stubborn righteousness making his voice tight.

"She's a good person, Rick." Lori said with soft confidence.

"You don't know that. A man's dead and she said she's not sorry." Rick argued.

"A man who abused her horribly—who might be involved in her child's _death_!" Lori said with some heat.

"We barely know her..._he _barely knows her." Rick argued, not liking the soft challenge in his wife's voice.

"Daryl's capable of making his own choices, Rick. I know you've watched out for him since you were kids, but you can't control him." Lori said, looking at him now, trying to make Rick see he was pushing Daryl away with his attitude, "He won't let you and he'll fight you and you'll lose him."

"It's not just about Daryl now, Lori. Someone_ killed_ her husband—maybe over secrets she knows—they'll come after her too. I can't have her here anymore. She's putting us in danger. She's _not _one of us." he said coldly, shaking his head from side to side.

_"Rick!"_ Lori said, shocked that he could be so unfeeling. "She just lost her daughter, her home; you know Daryl cares for her deeply. You can't just throw her to the wolves!"

"Andrea got her into protective custody." he said flatly, the issue closed for further consideration as far as he was concerned, "She'll be safe there."

"And _Daryl_?" Lori said, unable to believe that the other man would go along with this.

"He'll be safe here with us. With his _family_." Rick said.

"That's not what I meant." Lori said, growing more upset, "What did Daryl say when you told him?"

Rick didn't say anything in reply, but a muscle under his eye started to twitch.

"You didn't tell him." Lori whispered. "You bastard." she spit out and stood. Rick grabbed her arm.

"You can't tell him either. He'll never let her go." Rick said, "She wants it this way too." he added. Lori pulled her arm out of his grasp and gave him a disgusted glare.

"It's not right and you know it. She belongs with him," Lori said in a husky angry whisper, choking up a bit, "but she already loves him too much to put him in danger. I'd say that's pretty much the textbook definition of a _good_ person."

Lori swept back in the house, leaving Rick to sit, alone, wishing Carol Peletier had never tried to find a safe haven in Senoia.

* * *

"You've got to hold still—I don't want to hurt you." Carol admonished.

"I'm tellin' you it's better when it's wet..." Daryl protested.

"It makes it too hard to hang on to, I'm working with my cast—you don't want my scissor hand to slip, now do you?"

"Don't see why we gotta do it in the first place—I can think of a lot better ways to be spendin' our time." Daryl drawled, reaching behind his back and goosing her lightly on the ass, making her jump.

"Am I gonna have to tie your hands behind your back?" Carol asked, growing exasperated.

"Tie me up?_ Why, Mizz Carol._.." Daryl purred, teasing, making her blush.

"You know that's not what I meant." she said, swatting him, "Just please sit still while I trim your hair?" she asked, but he reached back and pulled her down around onto his lap and then turned her so they were face to face and she was straddling him. That she was fully clothed while he wore only his black briefs gave her some resistance to him, but he was still incredibly distracting.

She'd draped a big towel around his shoulders to catch the falling hair, sitting him in the armless desk chair pulled out to the middle of the bedroom, but he'd been a fidgety customer and was continuing to distract her by touching her, teasing her, making her crazy because he was wasting _time._

Daryl didn't know, as she did, that this was probably the last moments they could be alone together for a long while. Carol knew she couldn't tell him what Rick and Andrea had planned; knew he'd think he should go with her, but she didn't want him to have to make that choice. He was needed here, Rick had made that clear, and she'd feel terrible if something happened to Lori, Carl or the baby because Daryl hadn't been here to help protect them.

She finally finished with his bangs, pronouncing him done. He pulled the scissors and comb from her hands and tossed them and then kissed her while his busy hands started unbuttoning her blouse.

"Hope you don't mind it quick now and again—we got pancakes to worry about this time." Daryl said very seriously, making Carol giggle in spite of herself. "Now pancakes is serious business, Missy!" he said in the same serious tone even while pushing her blouse off of her shoulders and kissing his way down her neck.

* * *

"Is that a _hickey_?" Rick snorted disdainfully when Daryl and Carol finally wandered back to the kitchen. There, visible through the open collar of Daryl's dress shirt, right over his collar bone on the left was a red-purple bruise.

"Hair looks good." Lori said with a smile. "I should get you to trim Carl's too—he's been following Daryl's lead with the Emo bangs and I'd like to see my sons' eyes again. He won't let_ me_ do it." she said, looking over at her boy, sitting at the counter on one of the high stools watching one of the local morning shows while he ate a small Clementine orange.

"Day comes you'll be _wishin'_ for one a your momma's haircuts." Daryl said, a bit wistfully, and they all knew he was remembering his own mother.

"How's your kitten today, Carl?" Carol asked, breezing on to change the subject, squeezing Daryl's hand comfortingly.

"Well..." Carl looked guiltily up at Daryl as he peeked in at the tiny animal in the yellow blanket sling he wore.

"Carl forgot to set the cat down before he went into the stall this morning and Flame almost made a meal outa it." Daryl told them, giving Carl a long look.

"Oh no!" Carol exclaimed, moving closer so she could see into the blanket's folds, "Is it ok?"

"Flame thought I had treats in the sling—baby cat got quite a ride when she shook it." Carl said, enthusiastically telling his story, sobering a bit when Daryl frowned at him.

"Cat's fine—they got nine lives, remember?" Daryl said, reaching out and rubbing his index finger over the kitten's head.

"Hey! That's your last name isn't it, Mizz Carol? _Peletier_?" Carl exclaimed, pointing at the TV screen.

All of their attention turned towards the small flat screen TV above the kitchen counter. Carl turned up the sound and Carol gasped softly as a picture of Ed flashed up behind the reporter.

_"Though no arrests have been made in the death of local businessman Ed Peletier, Channel Eight has learned exclusively that Peletier's wife, Carolina and a Senoia man, Daryl Dixon, both 35, were brought in for questioning and then released into the custody of the Senoia Sheriff's office." _A few second film clip of them leaving the Peachtree City police station and getting into the squad car with Shane and Rick flashed on the screen then.

_"Shit."_ Rick bit out. "Turn it off, Carl."

"Can they do that? Put them on the news like that?" Lori exclaimed, furious.

"Everything they said was true." Rick said, exchanging a look with Carol, whose mouth was drawn in a tight straight line.

"But how did they even know to be there?" Lori asked, looking at Rick in confusion, "Who would've tipped off the camera crew?"

_"Blake."_ Daryl said, putting his arm around Carol's shoulders, feeling her shaking.

* * *

Rick watched from the front seat of the squad car as Daryl said goodbye to Carol. Andrea sat beside him, talking to herself under her breath, practicing her revised opening remarks, altered in light of the bad publicity her clients had gotten over Peletier's death.

"He's gonna fight us on this." Rick said.

"He'll want her to be safe." Andrea replied, her head coming up, watching Daryl tenderly take Carol's face in his hands, talking to her softly.

"He'll think he's the best one to do it...to protect her." Rick disagreed.

"He probably is, but not at the cost of his own freedom." Andrea told him. "He _has_ to appear in court today or they'll issue a bench warrant for his arrest and _she_ has got to go into protection, it's as simple as that."

Daryl kissed Carol lingeringly and she clung to him. Uncomfortable with the raw emotion he saw between them Rick turned away then.

"If Blake is responsible for Ed Peletier's death that means he's escalating." Rick said.

"Ed must've done or said something that Blake saw as disloyal..." Andrea speculated. "From what Glenn told us that's a big trigger for him."

The right back passenger door opened and Daryl got in, looking like a lawyer himself in the tailored grey suit with black tie and his neatly trimmed hair and beard.

"He'll come after her now, won't he?" Daryl said as he fastened his seat belt.

"Yes." Andrea answered, knowing he deserved the truth. Rick put the car in gear and started down the farm lane. Daryl let his head fall back onto the seat back behind him.

"You got someplace safe for us to go?" Daryl asked and Rick glanced over at Andrea.

"Working on it." was all Andrea said.

* * *

Carol watched the car pull away with mixed feelings. She knew that their plan mandated that she be out of the way and safe, but she also knew that Daryl's reaction to her being gone could make or break it; so she'd needed to tell him something that she hoped would help him accept it.

Daryl had taken her face in his hands and looked deeply into her eyes, repeating what he had told her last night.

"Just remember, no matter what happens today, it's you n' me. _I love you_." he said softly.

Carol felt the tears fill her eyes at the open admission of his feelings. It was too soon—how could he be so _sure_? How could she trust that he really understood what he was feeling? He was a good man, with strong protective instincts, maybe he was just—

"Man can only say that so many times without hearin' it back before he starts to get a mite nervous..." Daryl said, sounding it, using his thumb to brush at the corner of her eye where a tear had spilled over.

"You are the best man I've ever known, Daryl." Carol told him, lowering her chin and closing her eyes; taking a deep breath, pushing more unbidden tears out as she gathered her strength. "And I've brought you nothing but trouble."

"You're _wrong_...Karen, my stepmother...yesterday she said she wanted to meet the woman who woke me up...and she was right. I was sleepwalkin' before I met you—just doin' what it took to keep movin', thinkin' being part of Rick's family was enough, but it wasn't." Daryl's voice took on an anxious edge then. "I can't go back to stumblin' blindly through my life...please tell me you feel the same way, Carol."

And that was the hell of it. She _did,_ exactly the same. How could she go back to that empty existence? How could she leave him? Carol lifted her chin and looked into his eyes, stunned to see the tears forming there as he waited for her response.

"Oh God, Daryl._ I love you so much._" she said, all in a rush, clinging to him, and his breath whooshed out in relief and he kissed her; a perfect kiss with lingering passion and pent up emotion, reluctantly ended.

"Stay safe." Daryl said, kissing her forehead as he released her.

"Nine lives, remember?" Carol said, assuring him that like Carl's kitten, she was a survivor.

* * *

"Carol!" Glenn screamed, leaping to shove her out of the path of the fast moving pickup truck which then clipped him hard on his right leg and hip, sending him careening against the parked car they'd just exited. Shane crouched, aiming his pistol at the truck's tires, but the vehicle whipped around the corner, the shots pinging against the bumper instead.

It had all happened in a heartbeat. She'd been starting across the street to her appointment, chatting with Glenn who was slightly ahead, Shane behind, when the truck came out of the alley beside the house.

Carol sat sprawled on the pavement in front of the psychiatrist's home, next to the squad car, looking in horror at Glenn lying in the street, his face flashing back and forth with Sophia's, the events of both days confused in her mind—Sophia running out of the front door to their house...followed by Ed, holding...holding something...Glenn had been carrying her backpack of possessions, all that she had left after the fire, and it had flown up in the air when he'd been hit, after he pushed her to safety...what was _Ed_ holding?

Shane knelt next to Glenn, checking his vitals and then helping him sit up, talking to him, talking into his walkie, calling for help. All Carol could hear was white noise.

"_Carol!_ Are you all right?" Shane yelled. She could see his mouth move, but she was trying to listen to Sophia, to Ed...

She remembered.

"No daddy! Mommy _help _me!" her baby screamed, her long legs pale and bare as she ran across the lawn, her freckled shoulders and arms—_oh god...oh no_—Ed started down the steps and behind him Carol could see more people, more men, and another little girl, a blonde, about Sophia's age, maybe a bit younger, standing in the door way, sucking her thumb, wearing only her panties, her face blank.

Ed was holding Sophia's favorite dress, the one she'd gotten for her birthday, the little cornflower blue t-shirt dress with a rainbow across the front, an expression of angry lust etched into his features.

Carol bent over double, sure she'd been the one hit by the truck instead of Sophia...instead of Glenn...wishing she_ had_ been...wishing she was as dead as her daughter...her baby that she hadn't been able to protect from the monster she'd married.

She remembered.

In her memory she saw the truck approach from the right, out of the corner of her eye, and she turned her head and looked the driver in the eyes. Phillip Blake stared back at her impassively, his eyes cold and dead as a shark's, flicking to the right. He took in the scene on the lawn and gunned the engine, deliberately targeting the child now in the middle of the street, staring her down as the pickup hit Sophia and her frail body flew up in the air.

She remembered.

Carol screamed. Everything went black.

* * *

"Mommy? What's wrong? _Mommy?_"

Carl felt a small cool hand on her cheek and flinched back. It hurt. Even that gentle small touch exploded, blossomed into pain.

"Mommy, there's blood. _Mommy please!_ Open your eyes, you're scaring me..."

"Sophia?" Carol whispered, but that hurt too. She felt the inside of her lower lip with her tongue, the cuts where her flesh had come between teeth and fist, the split on the swollen surface. She tried opening her eyes, but the left was swollen shut and though she could see out of the right she saw blood cloud her field of vision. She blinked rapidly and felt tears run down the right side of her face. She winced as her daughter embraced her.

"Oh mommy—you're _alive_!" Sophia's relieved cry made Carol take inventory—why had she looked other than alive to her child?

Looking around the room Carol saw the remnants of the dinner she'd been preparing splattered over every surface where Ed had thrown it, pot and skillet. All of her wedding china had also been destroyed, smashed plate by plate against the granite kitchen counter tops and floor, along with the crystal goblets from her parents, the water glasses, all of her best. He'd been bringing clients home, high rollers, a huge new account, but instead had come home two hours early, roaring drunk and complaining bitterly that everything they had was cheap inadequate shit, from the house to the china to the food, and then of course, to her.

He'd done his worst, there in the kitchen. Destroyed everything she'd so carefully prepared and then tried to destroy her. He'd forced her, brutally, pulling her apron up over her face so he wouldn't have to look at her while he used her body, and then he'd beat her for crying from the pain he'd inflicted. She knew she had broken ribs this time, and he'd even hit her in the face, something he usually tried to avoid so that she could still go out in public, keeping up appearances.

And then he'd left her there for Sophia to find when she came home from her after school church youth group, the carpool enabling Carol to trade off picking her up every other week.

"Should I call 911, mommy?" Sophia asked in a small voice, knowing that's what they had been told to do at school when someone was hurt, but confused. She knew her father had been the one to do this...did that mean her mom had been bad again? Daddy said when you were bad you got punished.

"No!" Carol said loud enough to cause her more pain, the inhalation stabbing through her. "Have to—we just have to get this cleaned up before he gets back." Carol whispered.

Sophia went to the refrigerator and found one of the many ice packs stored in the freezer and wrapped it in a towel before she gave it to her mother, helping her sit up straighter. Carol held it to the side of her face, wishing the coming numbing cold could extend to her whole body.

"Are _you_ ok, baby?" Carol asked, knowing that being witness to all of this violence was probably damaging her daughter, but unable to see any way to escape their lives.

"I'm a good girl. I do what I'm told." Sophia said matter of factly, wiping the blood off of her mother's face. "Daddy would never hurt me." she added with rote assurance, as if she'd repeated the phrase by memory many times and then her brow knit in concern, "You have to stop being _bad,_ mommy."

* * *

"Carol?" a deep concerned female voice was saying her name while gently rubbing her hand. Carol opened her eyes and saw the face of the psychiatrist, Michonne, looking down at her.

"Where am I? Sophia?" Carol asked, confused—she'd just been talking to her daughter—where was she?

"Carol, do you know who I am? Where you are?" Michonne asked, and Carol sat up then, taking in her surroundings. She was on the couch in the doctor's home office; she'd been here before. She nodded yes.

"You were talking in your sleep, you said your child's name; do you remember that?"

"Glenn!" Carol cried, looking around the room. "He saved me—is he ok?"

"He's fine; he'll just have some pretty spectacular bruises." Michonne assured her.

"Oh...good...I mean, I'm glad he wasn't hurt worse." Carol murmured.

"Like Sophia?" Michonne asked leadingly. "Carol, you remembered something, didn't you? It's important."

Carol closed her eyes against the pain that the truth brought with it. The truth that had been hidden for so long under the benign false face of her husband's sick malignant world, the truth that she wasn't the only one being abused in her home.

_"I remember everything."_ she whispered, devastated.

* * *

_**AN:**__** This was a very hard chapter to write. I tried to use the themes and clues that we were given in the show about the true extent of Ed's sick behavior and go from there to set up the depth of the secrets that he, Blake and the fraternity of others who were there the day Sophia died have to hide.**_

_**Carol's mind was not able to cope with that truth; the idea that she had failed her daughter on the most basic level made it shut down and refuse to see what was really happening. This is something that abused people sometimes have to do to survive and should not be seen as a sign of weakness. **_

_**Sophia never told her mother about the abuse, and may not have even understood that what her father was doing was wrong because of the way he "explained" it to her. It was only when he took it further and brought others like him into their home that day that she panicked, running out into the street to her death.**_

_**Now that she knows definitively that Blake not only killed her daughter but suborned the abuse to which Sophia and other children were being subjected, Carol and her new allies will stop at nothing to take him down.**_

_**To those of you who are upset with Rick's attitude and behavior so far, yes, it does somewhat parallel his character development and actions towards Carol in TWD S4. However, in this story he still has a very alive and pregnant Lori to care for so he's not had reason to board the crazy train. Add to it that this Lori **__**ships**__** Caryl and then also factor in a very in love Daryl to challenge what Rick does, and there's room for an attitude change to come, so cut him some slack, ok? Thanks!**_

_**I know I say it every time, but I really do so appreciate all of you who take the time to read, favorite and follow. I love reading your thoughts on the story in reviews & do use the feedback to inform my writing.**_

_**DD1**_


	14. Chapter 14: She's Not There

_**Daryl's hearing on the arson charges begins.**_

* * *

_**She's Not There**_

_Well, no one told me about her  
what could I do?  
Well, no one told me about her  
though they all knew  
but it's too late to say you're sorry  
how would I know?  
why should I care?  
Please don't bother tryin' to find her  
she's not there._

_Well, let me tell you 'bout the way she looked  
the way she'd act and the color of her hair  
her voice was soft and cool  
her eyes were clear and bright  
but she's not there…_

- The Zombies

Rick's phone and then Andrea's made that vibrating buzz that was their silent mode. Rick thumbed on the screen and glanced quickly down at his and then swore under his breath. He touched Andrea's shoulder and she looked back at him and showed her the text that he had just received and then she checked her phone as well. They both glanced at Daryl, sitting beside Andrea at the defendant's table in the main courtroom of the King County courthouse and then had a whispered exchange that Daryl strained to hear, but couldn't.

Rick's face was a stoic mask as he nodded at Daryl and then got up and left the courtroom, striding down the aisle, carrying his hat, his pace quickening as he moved to and then through the courtroom doors.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked, twisting in his seat to watch Rick's departure, but flinching as he saw Phillip Blake seated behind the county prosecutor's table. Catching Daryl's eye Blake mockingly tipped his non-existent hat and smirked before facing front.

"Just some police business, nothing to worry about." Andrea said evenly. "Keep your head in the game here, Dixon. This is serious business today."

"You listen to your lawyer, baby brother." Merle said from behind him, where he sat one row ahead of Dale and his wife Irma, present as owners of the property, and Hershel, there as a character witness for Daryl.

"Oyez, oyez, the Superior court of King County is called to order; the honorable Judge Yvonne Stevens presiding." the bailiff called.

They all stood as the judge entered the room. She was a dignified African American woman with a no nonsense demeanor and excellent posture. Her austere black robes were somewhat softened by the pretty white lace collar she wore over the neckline of them. She climbed up onto the elevated bench and sat, allowing all others in the room to do so as well.

Andrea had told him that the prosecuting attorney, one of her colleagues, had a reputation for scrupulously, almost scientifically researching his cases. Edwin Jenner was a burly man, tall and intimidating, with short greying hair and keen blue eyes and was just a tiny bit disheveled, as if he had too much on his mind or no one in his life to make sure his shirts were pressed and his shoes shined. The latter was in fact true; he had recently lost his wife to cancer.

"Good morning." Judge Stevens said. "I just want to remind everyone that this is a hearing to decide if enough evidence exists for charges to be brought forward in this case for the defendant, Mr. Dixon to be bound over for trial. Mr. Prosecutor?"

"Your honor, today we will present our theory of the case against Mr. Dixon, which includes both physical evidence of his presence at the fire scene and a prior relationship with the tenant of Mr. and Mrs. Horvath's rental apartment, where the fire originated. It is our contention that working in collusion with said tenant, Mrs. Carolina Peletier, wife, now _widow _of the late Edwin Peletier, Mr. Dixon set the fire to incriminate Mr. Peletier, who was estranged from his wife and up on unsubstantiated charges of abuse."

"Bull _shit_." Merle muttered and the judge banged her gavel.

"I will not have profanity on my courtroom." Stevens said sharply, glaring at the defendant's side of the room. Andrea sighed and gave Daryl an annoyed sideways glance, as if there was anything he could do to keep Merle quiet short of super gluing his mouth shut.

To everyone's surprise Merle stood, holding his hand to his heart.

"I do apologize, your honor. I will endeavor to control myself better." Merle said deferentially.

"Thank you, Mister-?" the judge asked, slightly amused.

"Dixon, Merle Dixon. I just couldn't abide some big blow-fish tellin'_ lies_ about my little brother."

"Your honor!" Jenner exclaimed, "I take umbrage at that characterization!"

Stevens banged her gavel several times.

"Mr. Dixon, you utter one more word, unless in answer to a question, and I will have you ejected from this courtroom—do you understand me?" Stevens said sternly.

"Yes ma'am—yer honor." Merle answered and sat down.

"Ms. Harrison?" the judge asked, and Andrea stood.

"Your honor, we will show that not only did Mr. Dixon not set a fire in Mr. Horvath's home, but that his alleged relationship with Mrs. Peletier was at the time of the fire actually an acquaintance of only three days; they first met when he came to her residence to repair a plumbing problem, at which time the two main items of physical evidence, a commemorative note pad and his hat were left behind. Furthermore, on the day of the fire he was in this very building all day, first for a court case involving his brother and then when he stepped in to _protect_ Mrs. Peletier, who was here as well, _from _her husband."

"It seems that Mrs. Peletier is someone from whom we need to hear, wouldn't you say?" the judge said, and then asked, "Is she here in the courtroom?"

"Mrs. Peletier has been taken into protective custody, your honor and is unavailable at this time." Andrea said.

_"What?"_ Daryl said, looking up at Andrea with bewilderment.

"My chambers—_now._" the judge said to both lawyers, banging her gavel. "This court will take a 10 minute recess." Everyone stood as the judge left the bench and swept back to her rooms behind it.

"What the hell are you talking about, Andrea? _Where's Carol?"_ Daryl said, equal parts angry and anxious.

"Keep your voice down." Andrea whispered forcefully, "She's safe, that's all I can tell you." she told him, gathering her things to take back to the judge's chambers. She glanced over at Blake who was staring at them with narrowed eyes.

Daryl grabbed his lawyer's arm and forced her attention back to him.

"You're not sending her off alone; I'm going _with_ her." Daryl protested in a low firm voice, echoing what he had told Rick and Andrea this morning.

"Daryl, I have to go." Andrea said, nodding towards the judge's chambers, where Jenner was already headed.

"Rick _knew _about this?" Daryl asked, wondering if his friend's early exit and the text he'd gotten had anything to do with Carol.

_"It was his idea."_ Andrea said tightly, knowing that would shock Daryl into releasing her.

Daryl staggered back slightly, the sense of betrayal bitter in his mouth, his hand going slack on Andrea's arm so she could pull away from him.

"Wait here." Andrea ordered, "And don't get any hot headed Dixon ideas about going after her. You're still technically in police custody."

Andrea rose and followed after the prosecutor. Daryl looked at the bailiff.

"Need to take a piss." Daryl said crudely and the man grimaced in distaste but motioned him to stand and proceed out of the rear doors ahead of him.

"Think I'll join you little brother." Merle said, rising to follow, drawing Phillip Blake's attention, and the lawyer rose as well.

"I think _not_." The bailiff said, stopping and turning to put a hand to Merle's chest.

"You think Old Merle's comin' along to help Derle make a jail break?" Merle scoffed "Just feel the need, know what I mean?" he added and let his eyes meet Blake's. "You too counselor?"

Blake pursed his lips and looked as though he wanted to scrape Merle off of his shoe. He very pointedly took his cell phone out of its holster on his belt and gestured to the sign at the back of the courtroom forbidding its use in the chamber, showing a disembodied head talking on a cell with the international "not" symbol, a red circle and slash across its face, disturbingly reminding Daryl of what had been left of Ed Peletier in his daughter's grave.

"Need to make a call." Blake said.

"Yeah, _bet_ you do." Daryl said under his breath, knowing that the news of Carol's being taken into protection would not be welcomed by Blake and his co-horts.

"Excuse me, Dixon—I couldn't quite hear that grunt—was it being inarticulately flung in _my_ direction like so much fecal matter?" Blake said, likening Daryl to an ape pitching shit in a zoo. Daryl bristled, but it was Merle who launched himself at the lawyer.

"The _fuck _you say to my brother?" Merle snarled, the bailiff grabbing at him, stopping his forward momentum and putting him in a modified choke hold. Merle struggled but looked at Daryl and swung his head towards the door, telling Daryl to get out while the bailiff was distracted.

Daryl pushed the door open and slipped out, hearing Merle arguing with the bailiff and Blake joining in the argument behind him.

_"Choke hold's illegal!"_ Merle complained loudly, making Daryl grin despite himself.

As soon as he cleared the doors Daryl saw Rick at the end of the hall talking to someone seated on one of the benches against the far wall and strode angrily towards him. Drawing closer he saw that it was Glenn, and that the young Korean man was seriously banged up, bruised all down his side and had dried blood on his clothes, making Daryl's head go light and fingers numb with fear.

"Nice suit." Glenn wise cracked when he saw Daryl approach.

_"What the fuck happened to you?"_ Daryl said, gasping as Glenn turned more fully towards him so he could see the full extent of the bruises and contusions on the younger man's swollen face. "Where's _Carol._..what the fuck happened? You're supposed to be protecting her!" Daryl exclaimed, coming to stand before Glenn, looking like he wanted to haul him up by his shirt front, but was visibly holding himself back from doing so.

"He did!" Rick said in an angry terse voice, turning to face Daryl. "He almost got himself killed saving your precious girlfriend's life so stop giving him shit!"

_"What?"_ Daryl asked, horrified, looking back and forth between Glenn and Rick. "What the hell happened—was she hurt?"

"She's fine—someone tried to run her down in front of the doctor's office." Glenn told him, wincing with the effort it took to speak.

"That where she is now?" Daryl asked, his mind racing, trying to figure out how and how soon he could get to her.

"You're not even going to _thank_ him?" Rick asked, sounding disgusted.

"_Shit _man, I'm sorry," Daryl said to Glenn, contrite. "What you did—there are no words—she's... she's special to me...guess you know that ..." Daryl looked extremely uncomfortable talking about his feelings, but he shook it off and looked more closely at Glenn's wounds. "You gonna be ok?"

"Truck just clipped me—nothing broken—bruised my spleen or something, but hey, I heard you can live without one a' them, so no worries." Glenn said matter of factly and Daryl's eyes went wide with concern, "Just kidding." Glenn said, "I look a lot worse than my injuries really are."

"Shane's with her and will take her to the safe house when she's done at Dr. Kendall's." Rick told Daryl in clipped tones, answering his earlier question.

"Same one you'll take _me_ to when_ this_ mess is done, right Rick?" Daryl challenged his friend, pointing back towards the courtroom doors on the words_ 'this mess'._ "Like we agreed; so's I can be with her, to protect her."

"You're goin' over that cliff again, Daryl." Rick said quietly, coming in closer to Daryl, lowering his head and leaning in_, "and I'm tryin' to hang on to you..."_

"Brother... I know you think you're lookin' out for me, savin' me like always... n' I know you don't trust her, think she's messin' up my life, but you're _wrong_." Daryl put his hands on Rick's shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes, willing him to really _get_ what he was telling him, "Rick, Carol_ ain't_ no god damn cliff..._Carol's the fuckin' rope._"

Rick stared at Daryl, disbelief on his face. Glenn watched their interplay anxiously.

"Yeah—well, give you enough rope you'll _hang_ yourself." Rick scoffed, pulling out of Daryl's grasp and turning so his shoulder was angled away from the other man.

"I _need_ her just as much as I _need_ you; why can't you understand that?" Daryl asked, moving so he was directly in front of Rick again, getting in his face, his pain at Rick's continued refusal to accept Carol palpable, "Don't you want me to have a chance at a life like you got with Lori n' Carl n' lil'ass kicker?"

Now doubt started to move across Rick's face. He'd always thought of Daryl as a lone wolf...too damaged to form that kind of attachment, to share that kind of trust with anyone but him and his family. He looked at Daryl's face, the bruises from his last go round with Merle barely faded. Could he really overcome a lifetime of abuse and come out whole on the other side? Did Carol give him a reason to try?

_"Daryl..."_ Rick began, but Daryl didn't want to hear any more of the man's excuses or opinions. If Rick said another word he was likely to feel Daryl's fist ending the conversation.

"You can't take her away from me, Rick." Daryl said plainly. "I won't let you," and he stubbed the fingers of his right hand into Rick's chest, "Now tell me where she's at so's I can go get her."

"Dr. Kendall sent me to get Daryl." Glenn interrupted, "That's why I had them bring me here from the hospital first thing." The deputy who'd responded to the scene along with the ambulance had waited at the ER for Glenn to be released while Shane stayed with Michonne and Carol. When Michonne had called Glenn and told him the state Carol was in he knew just where to find Daryl.

Both Daryl and Rick turned to look down at Glenn, wondering why he'd buried the lead.

"You just tellin' us this _now_?" Daryl asked heatedly.

"Sorry—maybe my brains did get a little scrambled _when I got hit by a frickin' truck..." _Glenn said sarcastically.

"Come on Glenn, out with it." Rick said impatiently.

"Michonne said Carol told her that she remembered.._.everything..._" Glenn said very quietly, looking towards the courtroom doors where the man at the root of this entire situation had just appeared, his cell phone to his ear.

Seeing blood red, Daryl started towards him, but both Rick and Glenn, who stood quickly, gritting his teeth against the sharp painful reminders of his injuries, grabbed a tight hold on him, blocking him and forcing him to stand still.

"There's _more,_ Daryl." Glenn said in a harsh low voice and looked at Rick as well. "After she said it Carol just sort of _stopped. _Stopped talking, stopped moving—went catatonic—she's just not _there._ Whatever it was she remembered it just shut her down and the doctor is at a loss. Michonne thought maybe if Daryl was there..." he let his voice trail off

"_Shit."_ Daryl muttered, worried as hell about what could be bad enough to cause her that much pain after everything she'd already been through. Carol was strong, resilient, but it had to do with her daughter it could've overwhelmed her. Daryl glared at Rick, who closed his eyes and shook his head in surrender. If Carol knew something that would help them take out Blake, they needed to know it as soon as possible.

"She needs me, Rick. I'm not losin' someone else I—" but then Daryl stopped in mid-sentence, his face going icy, looking past Rick, looking back towards the courtroom doors.

Blake had noticed the three men by then and sauntered down the hallway towards them, gesturing with his phone.

"You gentlemen wouldn't happen to know where Mrs. Peletier is keeping herself these days, would you? Detectives, judges, and prosecutors from here to Atlanta seem to have a need to speak with the woman and she is _nowhere_ to be found." he drawled lazily, as if he couldn't care less, but his shark eyes narrowed in studied contrast to his facade of ease. He was in fact _very _interested in Carol's whereabouts.

"You heard what Andrea said, she's in protective custody." Rick told him, his face carefully blank.

"And so is no longer at your home with your lovely wife Lori and your son, Carl?" Blake asked, deliberately invoking their names and the fact that he knew where Carol had been staying in order to try to set Rick off. All three men stiffened but remained in place.

Behind them the door to the courtroom opened and the bailiff came out, obviously looking for Daryl.

_"Dixon?"_ the bailiff called, sounding at the end of his rope, abandoning the formalities after his struggle with Merle, "Get your ass back in here_, now."_

"You stick around 'til this is over, got me?" Daryl looked at Glenn, who looked at Rick for permission before he nodded in agreement and then sank back down onto the bench, the adrenaline that had helped him rise to help hold back Daryl now dissipating.

"Yes, Dixon, let's finish this so we can see if you'll be leaving for anywhere but West Georgia Correctional." Blake said smugly, smirking and turning on his heel to head back into the courtroom.

Daryl waited until Blake had gone back inside before he looked back to Rick and Glenn.

"You gonna try to take that asshole down you _need_ Carol." Daryl told them. "N' know this Rick: no Carol, no me. That's all I got to say on the matter." He nodded at Glenn again in thanks and then turned on his heel to placate the waiting rather pissed off bailiff by returning to the courtroom.

"I think he means it." Glenn said to Rick.

The Deputy sighed and then picked up his uniform hat up off of the bench and put it on, taking his time to make sure it sat _just so_ on his head.

"It's not too late to say you're sorry, you know." Glenn added carefully, unsure of the other man's mood. Rick ran his finger around the brim of his hat, adjusting the gold tassels at the front.

"Tell Andrea I'm heading over to Doc Kendall's." Rick said, his mouth set in a determined line.

"What? Why? Shouldn't you wait for her?" Glenn said, confused, struggling to his feet as Rick started down the hall heading for the door that led to the courthouse building's front doors.

"For the hearing to be over? For _Daryl_?" Glenn called after him, growing concerned.

"No." was all Rick said as he slapped his hand palm down on the door, slamming it open and walking through it.

* * *

**_Oh Rick, Rick, Rick..._**

**_Will his ass-hattery continue? Did he hear anything Daryl said? or does the fact that Blake invoked his wife and son's name trump everything else for him?_**

**_The Zombies are a British Invasion music group that released the song "She's not there" in 1964. It fit perfectly for what I wanted to do with this chapter. It's actually kind of a creepy ambiguous little ditty: is the woman not there physically or mentally? Is she alive or dead? manipulative or just lost? Why didn't anyone tell the man singing that she was gone? Kind of how Rick vs. Daryl in viewing Carol..._**


	15. Chapter 15: Sense and Sensibility

_**Rick gets some sound advice about Caryl from an unlikely source while Daryl's allies are forced to move quickly to protect him.**_

* * *

_**Sense & Sensibility**_

"_It is neither time nor opportunity that determines intimacy; it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others."  
_- Jane Austen in _Sense and Sensibility_

**_11:25 a.m._**

"Rick? Where's Daryl?" Shane asked his determined looking brother-in-law as Rick got out of the squad car. The dark haired deputy came down off the porch where he had been standing, guarding the woman who lay within, unresponsive but awake, on Michonne's office couch.

"She inside?" Rick said in a clipped tone.

"Who? Carol? Didn't Glenn talk to you?" Shane frowned. He'd been worried about the brave young PI who had taken quite a knock from being hit by the truck, fortunately only a glancing blow. When Glenn claimed he was ok to head to the courthouse Shane had objected, but been overruled by the Doc who said it was important that Daryl be brought as soon as possible. She'd wanted the presence of someone there at the courthouse to reinforce the text that she'd sent, knowing that if the hearing had begun neither Andrea nor Rick could answer a phone call and hear the urgency in her voice.

"Yeah, I talked to Glenn." Rick muttered, his mouth curved into almost a sneer. He started up the stairs, but not liking the look on his face Shane put a hand out to stop him.

"Now hold on there. Doc Kendall said it was _Daryl _we needed here. Don't need you barging in there and getting all up in her face." Shane said. He had about had it with Rick's attitude over Daryl and Carol's relationship. He had started out just as wary of the woman as Rick had been, worried about how her presence could endanger his nephew and pregnant sister. Yet as he had gotten to know her and saw her effect on Daryl, his attitude towards Carol had changed.

"Do you remember what a _shit_ I was about you datin' Lori?" Shane asked. Lori had been a sophomore in college when she had been introduced to Rick at a party. When her brother had found out that a guy who wanted to be a cop, a risky and dangerous profession, had asked out Lori, Shane had been a nightmare, doing everything he could to break them up. Of course the final irony had been that after getting to know Rick, Shane had also gone into the same profession.

At the time however, it seemed that the men would never see eye to eye and had even come to blows. Finally he and Rick had it out, with Rick accusing Shane of being jealous because he was in love with Lori himself.

"That was a long time ago, Shane." Rick said, "We were all just kids."

"Then why are you acting the same way I was about Lori back then with Daryl and Carol _now_?" Shane asked.

_"What?"_

"Jealous. Like you don't give a damn how happy she makes him coz you're afraid he won't have room in his life for you any more—isn't that what you told me about Lori?"

"That's bullshit-she's putting him in danger! Violence surrounds her! Murder, arson—"

"She's a_ victim_, Rick! You're making no sense here. When did you stop having empathy for someone in need of our help?" Shane asked. "Nah—there's more to this. It ain't about Carol; it's all about _Daryl_..."

"What the hell are you saying?" Rick asked.

"I'm sayin' you get_ off_ on the idea that you're all he's got." Shane crossed his arms in front of himself and let that sink in. He'd watched the two men for years, close as brothers, felt the trust and intimacy between them, knew that it came from a lifetime of experiences, many of them painful, Daryl's mother's death, the abuse he suffered...but he'd also realized that it was a fact that it was always Rick _saving_ Daryl from something. Giving him shelter, assuring him he was a good man, making him part of the family, putting him back together after Merle or his daddy or both of them went off on him...that was how their relationship worked best...Rick giving and Daryl taking..._until now._

_"Fuck you."_ Rick responded, trying to push past him, but Shane blocked him, put his hand on Rick's chest.

"Rick, I _know _what I'm talkin' about here." Shane said with quiet intensity, "I was doin' the same thing I see you doin' to Daryl—makin' all the same mistakes...only _with Lori_...after our folks died I had to take care of her...she was _my_ responsibility...she was all I had...then you come crashin' in, all Dudley Do-Right deputy...and I thought, no man's good enough for my sister!" He paused and looked at Rick, making sure he had his full attention, _"...until one is."_

"It's_ not_ the same." Rick interrupted, "You had time to get to know me—saw us fall in love over that year and a half; you knew how much she meant to me. Daryl's barely known this woman _a week_ and she'd turned his life upside down! Why shouldn't I do everything I can to get her out of his life—out of _all_ our lives?"

"Because he _loves_ her, Rick...and she loves _him._ Wouldn't matter if it had been seven years or seven days; when it's _there_ and it's _right_ you know...and I'm tellin' you they _know." _Shane said. "I mean have you _ever_, in all the years you've known him, _ever _seen Daryl act like this over a woman?"

"That's his dick talkin'" Rick muttered, and Shane pushed him back, breaking his contact with the other man's chest.

"Well, thank _you,_ Merle Dixon." Shane snorted and Rick winced at the apt comparison, frowning and narrowing his eyes. "We both know Daryl can get all the pussy he wants just walkin' into the Big Dog any night a' the week." Shane continued. "But that ain't who he is, am I right?"

Rick reluctantly nodded in agreement. There was a reason those condoms had outdated before Daryl had used them; sex wasn't something he treated lightly.

"So if he's with Carol that _means_ something. And from what Lori tells me he's definitely _with _Carol." Shane said, recalling Lori's giggling, blushing description of the reason she'd still been yawning over lunch the day after the couple had first gotten together in the room next door to she and Rick's.

"Daryl..._in love_?" Rick tried to wrap his head around it.

"Yeah, and whatta ya know—it ain't with _you._" Shane drawled sarcastically.

"And thank_ you_, Merle Dixon." Rick said dryly. He had gotten used to Merle's none too subtle insinuations about the nature of he and Daryl's relationship over the years.

"So you gonna back off?" Shane asked, still blocking the door into the house with his muscular body, "Let the Doc handle this now? Wait for Daryl?"

Rick pulled off his hat and wiped the sweat off of his brow with the back of his other hand.

"Shit, I don't even know what happened at Daryl's hearing." Rick admitted. He'd been so hell bent to get over here and get Carol to the safe house before Daryl got here that he hadn't waited for the results of Andrea's meeting with the judge.

"They'll call." Shane assured him. "Meantime I'm glad for the back-up. If Blake figures out where Carol is we're gonna need it."

"_Damn it_—he'll have had me followed!" Rick swore, slapping his hat back on, suddenly realizing he'd made a huge mistake coming here. "We have to go – you go tell Michonne—"

"I don't know if Carol can walk—" Shane began, but Rick shook his head.

"Then we'll carry her—we need to _move,_ Shane!" Rick said quickly. Shane went in the house while Rick started punching in a number and a text, hoping the person he was sending it to understood the urgency of what he was asking.

* * *

**_1:00 p.m. West of Senoia  
_**

"If I could get you and your wife to step out of the vehicle Mr. Horvath?" the tall African American deputy asked Dale, who had to stop at a roadblock on the road leading west out of Senoia on 85.

"What's this all about, officer?" Dale asked, taking his license and registration back from the overly polite deputy, smiling but wrinkling his forehead with concern.

"Routine screening for contraband and what have you." The deputy said mildly, but fingering his baton as if he hoped Dale would give him trouble over the request.

"What about my 4th amendment rights against unreasonable search and seizure?" Dale asked, raising his expressive dark eyebrows.

"Now that's the kind of thing a man who's got something to hide might say, don't you think, Crowley?" Deputy Shumpert asked his partner, a small wiry man who was like him, a supporter of Phillip Blake.

"Now Shump—I'm sure Mr. Horvath here knows we have every right during times of crisis to ensure the health and safety of the citizens of King County." The second deputy drawled lazily.

"Health and _safety_?" Dale scoffed.

"Health and safety inspection of all motor vehicles is legal under Georgia statute. You could have some deadly toxin or a pig with foot and mouth secreted in that _big _a vehicle."

"Please, Mr. Horvath?" Shumpert asked again and with a long suffering sigh, Dale reluctantly slid out of the driver's seat and followed Irma out of the RV, praying that no matter what happened, Daryl could still make it safely to the new safe house to meet up with Carol.

* * *

**_11:30 a.m._**

"All rise, court will now resume session." The bailiff called for the second time that day as Judge Stevens reentered the courtroom. Jenner and Andrea had come back out of her chambers thirty or so minutes earlier, which was when the bailiff had gone looking so urgently for Daryl. Merle and Blake had regained their seats and eyed each other with poorly hidden hostility.

Holding his cell phone, Hershel leaned forward to share a word with Dale and then they beckoned Merle into the discussion. After a short confab, Dale rose and went to lean in and confer with Andrea and Daryl, who reacted to whatever Dale told him by swearing and looking over at Blake with a glare that would've seared the flesh off a man with less Teflon skin. They all kept their heads closely together speaking in whispers until Andrea nodded and Dale returned to his seat, while Hershel left the courtroom.

Stevens gave the assembled an assessing look, knowing what she had decided wouldn't set well with one half of the room before her. During their in camera meeting earlier she and the two lawyers had spoken plainly about the real situation that this case had become pivotal in unearthing.

"We've had Phillip Blake under investigation for some time now, your honor," Jenner had told her, much to Andrea's relief. The two lawyers sat in the club chairs in front of the judge's rosewood desk located in front of an entire wall of bookshelves.

"Not wanting to tip off Blake or his people," Jenner continued, "only two people in the county prosecutor's office had any knowledge of the case being put together by a joint federal, state and local task force. The kinds of things for which Blake and his organization were using his legitimate businesses to cover and launder funds are dangerous and ugly." Jenner steepled his fingers together and looked out over top of them at Stevens.

"Mrs. Peletier and Mr. Dixon have unfortunately gotten caught up on the edges of a large scale criminal enterprise." Jenner said regretfully. "When Blake moved to acquire the packaging company owned by her late husband, his ability to provide a legitimate shipping operation for their illegal goods made him an essential asset. However his inability to control his wife made him a liability."

"And may we know what his alleged illegal activity entails?" Stevens asked and Jenner looked extremely uncomfortable.

"Everything hinges on that." Andrea agreed, wishing she'd been brought into the loop sooner, feeling some legitimate anger at her colleague.

"It's complicated—I'm not at liberty to discuss that at this time. When the Peletier case came up we didn't want to blow our larger case against Blake by letting him know we were looking into his company-but then there was the possible cover up over Sophia Peletier's death, the Peletier assault case, the suspicious fire at Mrs. Peletier's apartment, everything kept coming back to it being a simple domestic abuse revenge case merely coincidentally involving one actor in Blake's business dealings, whom he seemed to be protecting."

"But then Ed Peletier ended up dead….something happened to make him_ more_ of a liability…" Andrea said.

"Did either of them have something to do with his daughter's death? With the arson?" Stevens asked.

"We don't have any concrete evidence of that." Jenner replied. "We do know Peletier was guilty of the assault even though those charges had to be dropped; he beat his wife—according to the later recanted witness statements, quite savagely."

"All you had to do was look at the police photographs of her face and his knuckles…which he claimed he scraped chopping and hauling _firewood._" Andrea said with disgust. "But with no body, no fraternity ring, no physical evidence…"

"And so where does Mr. Dixon come into all of this?" Stevens asked.

"Wrong place, wrong time." Jenner said with surety. "He is just what Ms. Harrison said, a new acquaintance who asked a pretty woman on a date after helping her out at the courthouse."

"Then _why_ are you prosecuting him for arson?" Stevens asked, frowning.

"Blake. If we dropped the charges he'd know we weren't buying his smoke screen. We need more time to put together the case against him." Jenner reasoned and Andrea flushed with anger.

"Daryl was _attacked_ at the prison! He could've been killed!—that blood is on your hands, Jenner!" Andrea said, furious.

"That was regrettable. I was able to help push through the protective mandate to solitary for him and notified the warden, but things are a little dicey up there at WGC with the changeover. I'm sorry it went down that way." Jenner apologized.

"So you couldn't drop the charges against Daryl without arousing Blake's suspicions?" Andrea asked and Jenner nodded.

"Well, I don't have that problem." The judge said with a snort. "Mr. Dixon's rights shouldn't be sacrificed for the greater good—he _is _the greater good as a citizen of this county and deserves our protection."

* * *

Stevens sat up on her bench looking down at the courtroom below. Her eyes passed over the prosecutor's table and saw Jenner, with Blake behind him, expectant, a smile playing around his thin lips. Then her head turned to the defendant's table, finally settling on Daryl Dixon's stoically grim face.

"Mr. Dixon, will you please rise?" Stevens ordered, her face giving nothing away.

Daryl looked over at Andrea with a frown, but she calmly nodded her assent to the action and he stood.

"Mr. Dixon?"

"Yes, your honor." Daryl said in a clear respectful tone, standing ramrod straight, holding his left wrist in his right hand in front of him.

"In light of information of which I have just been made aware, I am prepared to make a summary ruling on the charges being brought against you. I find that there is insufficient evidence or motive of a crime to hold you over for trial; the charges are dismissed with prejudice. You are hereby released on your own recognizance." She banged her gavel once, sharply and then set it down. "We are in recess." And then she stood and left the dais, returning to her chambers.

Daryl stood there stunned as Andrea came to her feet and put her hand on his shoulder. They could hear Phillip Blake's exclamation of dismay, but concentrated on the good news.

"What does that mean? 'dismissed with prejudice'?" Daryl asked.

"It means Jenner screwed up and they can't refile the charges against you for the fire." Andrea said, rubbing a small circle on his shoulder, "It's good news, Daryl." She smiled.

"So I can go to her? Carol?" Daryl asked, looking over her shoulder at Blake, arguing with Jenner, knowing they need to move quickly now.

"Yes—as soon as we can—it's going to take a bit of fancy foot work, but we'll get it done." Andrea said in a low voice, nodding at Dale and Merle who brushed the sides of their noses with their index fingers and along with Irma, left the room.

"I don't know what you said or did back there, Andrea, but thank you—you're a great lawyer and an even better friend." Daryl told her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Be careful there, Dixon, between the way you fill out those fancy duds and you holding me so close I might get ideas." Andrea murmured into his ear and grinned when Daryl blushed as he released her and then raised an eyebrow.

"Had your chance back in high school, Ange—as I recall your interest was held by another…" Daryl said, reminding her he knew very well why her flirting was just that.

"All right then—let's get you out of here…Carol needs you." Andrea said with a worried look.

* * *

**_1:05 p.m. North of Senoia  
_**

"Dr. Greene! Hope your day is going well. Could you and the other young man step out of the vehicle, please?" the officious young Asian deputy asked.

"What this about, deputy?" Hershel asked from the cab of his farm truck which was hitched to a stock trailer. Jimmy sat beside him, wearing a straw cowboy hat and his most innocent aw shucks expression. The road north of town was blocked just as the one west had been.

"Health and safety inspection." Deputy Tim Chang said brightly.

"Of me or my animals?" Hershel said patiently.

"One animal in particular we're after, but I guess you'll need to pull them all outa the back there so we can take a look." Chang said smugly.

* * *

**_1:12 p.m. South of Senoia  
_**

"Pull over! Now!" the loudspeaker PA on the squad car blared out to be heard above the noise of the big Triumph motorcycle. The helmeted rider turned back to the squad and very deliberately raised his middle finger and then shifted gears on the fly, hitting 75 miles an hour. The wings on the back of the leather vest he wore seeming to help him take flight as he pulled away from the deputy's car, leaning into the curve of the road south of town.

The deputy popped on the lights and sirens and gave chase.

* * *

**_1:13 p.m. East of Senoia  
_**

"It's Grimes and Walsh. What do we do, Paul?" the newest Sheriff's department recruit, a nervous Haley Johnson asked her partner, one of the most veteran on the force, as they manned the blockade east of town.

"Wave them through. Day I search a fellow deputy's car is the day I quit the force." The greying African American deputy told the young brunette woman.

Paul noticed that while Shane waved and nodded as he passed around the road block, Grimes sat stock still, obviously upset over the road block he knew was meant to snag his best friend and/or the woman he was with.

"Damned if I'll do that prick's dirty work." Paul muttered to himself, wondering if he had the balls to take early retirement if Blake got elected mayor of Woodbury.

* * *

**_1:40 p.m. Greene Farm  
_**

"How is she doing, Michonne?" Maggie asked as she followed the dread locked African American woman down the stairs to the darkened room with stone rubble walls lit by a series of battery powered Coleman lanterns hanging from the ceiling.

"These aren't exactly ideal conditions for a person in her state." Michonne grumbled at their surroundings. "But no one is going to find her here either, so that's one good thing."

"It was part of the Underground Railroad during the years before the War—under the foundations of the original house on the property…Sherman burned that one to the ground. They hid here in the tunnels and rooms then—survived the fire and the raiders." Maggie said mater of factly.

"So your family helped? With escaped slaves?" Michonne asked curiously.

"Just because we're southern doesn't mean our ancestors owned others. Daddy said that they believed in the dignity of all people and believed it was their Christian duty to take in those who needed help. His great granddaddy was a conductor on the circuit." Maggie said proudly and Michonne nodded sagely. She looked around the well-stocked store room and at the cot where Carol lay, warm under a sleeping bag.

"Looks like someone's a Doomsday Prepper in the family…" Michonne said archly, impressed at the food, water and weapons stored there.

"Otis, Daddy's partner. He channels all his excess energy into preparing for the worst," Maggie said, rolling her eyes a bit. "Daddy humors him, but it makes a good tornado shelter for us here at the farm."

"And safe house." Michonne agreed. "Any word?" she asked, wondering at the outcome of the hearing. They were far enough underground and far enough out in the countryside that her cell reception was spotty.

"He's on his way." Maggie smiled, "the judge dropped all of the charges so he's a free man.'

"Finally someone is acting sensible around here!" Michonne said with relief, taking the container of hot food that Maggie had brought with her from the house and setting it on the small round cafe table in the corner.

"Daryl's not usually someone I'd call overly emotional, but around Carol he's so different..." Maggie said, sitting in the chair next to the cot that Michonne had vacated when she'd heard Maggie's signal telling her she was on her way down. She pulled the flannel liner up around Carol's shoulders, making sure she was warm enough, and administered the soothing eye drops to the small woman's wide staring blue eyes as her father had instructed her.

Michonne worried a bit that Carol's claustrophobia might act up deep down in the hollow ground, but she'd just have to deal with it if and when the woman came out of her fugue state when Daryl arrived. She hoped that the bond the two had established would be strong enough to help Carol find her way back.

"She'd good for him and vice versa. From what I know of them both, it's almost like they were meant to find each other…" Michonne mused.

"Now Dr. Kendall, don't tell me you believe in fate." Maggie smiled, using her hankie to wipe the excess of the drops, running like tears down Carol's face.

Both woman stopped what they were doing and looked to the doorway as the signal knock sounded out. Maggie stood and lifted the hunting rifle propped by the chair.

"I'll back you up." Maggie said as Michonne moved to go open the door at the top of the staircase, but instead they heard the keys rattle and two figures dressed in deputy's uniforms came bounding down the stairs. The first ripped off his hat and tossed it, immediately going to Carol's bedside.

"Rick catches you man handlin' that _hat_ and he'll have your hide." Shane grunted out a laugh but caught the hat before it hit the floor.

Daryl ignored him as sat down on the chair beside the cot and placed his palm gently on Carol's cheek.

* * *

**_1:45 p.m. South of Senoia  
_**

The Triumph was finally forced into a trap between the squad chasing it and another car approaching from the opposite direction. The big bike slid to a stop and the rider slapped down the kick stand, turned off the engine with a flourish removed his helmet.

"I suppose I'll be up on a movin' violation, then, deputy?" Merle Dixon said contritely, holding his hands above his head, to the officers who leaped out of their squad cars, guns raised and pointed at him.

* * *

**_1:46 p.m. North of Senoia  
_**

"Now I told you we call her _nervous_ Nellie, Deputy, and I do apologize once more for her, but you ought not to walk up behind a horse cold like that with no warning—didn't your daddy teach you nothing?" Hershel said patiently to Deputy Chang, who was lying on the ground clutching at his groin and moaning.

Jimmy, who had driven the rig into Senoia from the farm when Hershel had called, put his hand over his mouth to hide his grin at the deputy's distress.

* * *

**_1:46 p.m. West of Senoia  
_**

"You know Officer Shumpert, for all of your efforts here; I'm just not seeing much of a return." Dale said sanguinely, surveying the mess the deputies had made of the interior of the big RV.

Shumpert pursed his lips and merely waved Dale and Irma to proceed through the roadblock, dreading the call he'd have to make to Phillip Blake, telling him that like the others, he'd found no trace of Dixon or the Peletier woman.

* * *

**_1:40 p.m. Grimes Farm  
_**

_"Lori? Carl?"_ Rick called out anxiously as he entered the Grimes home looking for his family. He almost ran through the foyer and living room until he found them working on lunch in the kitchen, along with T-Dog sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee. He quickly moved to embrace them both, muttering, "_thank god…"_

"Rick? What's going on?" Lori said, wondering at her husband's agitated state and why he was now wearing the grey suit she'd lent Daryl that morning.

"Is Uncle Daryl ok, dad?" Carl asked, worried that something bad had happened, knowing that if both his mom and dad had let him stay home from school, something big was up.

"He's fine—safe; they dropped the charges." Rick said and everyone gave a sigh of relief, but Lori still didn't understand why Rick had been so upset when he came in, not knowing that Blake had in his own oblique way threatened their family.

"Is it Carol?" Lori asked. "Where is she?"

"Safe house—can't tell you where." Rick said.

"Are they together?" Lori asked, frowning at him, knowing he was not in favor of the relationship and had thought to keep them apart by sending Carol away.

"In every sense of the word." Rick sighed; knowing he'd lost that battle, heeding Shane's advice and ruefully smiling at the relieved happy look of approval his wife gave him.

* * *

**_Jane Austen's main idea in her novel Sense and Sensibility, from which this chapter derives its title, is that we relate to others using both our reason (sense) and our emotions (sensibility). Rick's been a bit irrational in his attempts to keep Carol and Daryl apart, so he needed someone to talk some sense into him. My Shane in this story is a much nicer person than he ended up being in TWD. _****_Let me know what you think of it being Shane who finally got to Rick by comparing their similar situations._**

**_All of the "Blake" deputies searching the vehicles are residents of Woodbury in TWD S3: Tim, Shumpert, Crowley, Haley and Paul._**

**_I loved having Merle disguised as Daryl leading the police on a merry chase and giving him a chance to actually ride HIS motorcycle: ) And I will admit to sighing over how hot Daryl would look in a deputy uniform..._**

**_The idea of there being Underground Railroad tunnels under the ruins of the original house on the Greene land came to me when I was re-watching the S3 finale. Daryl says "Unless there are a bunch of tunnels down there I don't know about" when he's told they could try holding up in the basement until the herd passes by. The idea that the Greene home, a large farm in Georgia could have been a stop on the secret passage of escaping slaves fleeing north appealed to me as well, and uses the important concept of giving aid to those in need, which they did when Rick showed up carrying Carl._**

**_Also a little title shout out to the lovely Peta2 in there; I've been enjoying your story so much! Love those TWD babies!_**

**_Thanks readers, favs, follows & reviewers. _**

**_DD1_**


	16. Chapter 16: Inside Man

_**Carol faces her memories and fears with Daryl and Michonne's help, Phillip Blake is none too happy with his minions and the plan to investigate Peletier Packaging begins.**_

_**Trigger warning: some in character racist language.**_

* * *

_**Inside Man**_

"What happened to your beard?" Carol asked, scrunching up her nose as she looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes, making Daryl laugh with relief.

"Had to be sacrificed to the greater good." Daryl told her, giving her hand a squeeze and then lifting it to his mouth so he could press a kiss to her palm. He'd been sitting there, in the chair beside her cot all afternoon into the evening, softly talking to her, telling her about the hearing, about Carl's colt and kitten, about how they planned to get him a puppy for his birthday coming up...anything he could think of to keep calm and reassure her that he was there, that he'd always be there for her.

Carol half smiled half frowned, still a bit woozy, not understanding exactly what he was talking about, where they were, what had happened.

"And you're a deputy now?" she asked, reaching her other hand up to the collar of his uniform shirt. The quick switch of clothes in Andrea's prosecutor office in the courthouse and buzz with the electric razor Shane had in his go bag in the trunk of the squad had given Daryl enough camouflage to pass as Rick at the road block.

He'd made it to her with the help of their other friends throwing off his scent, including Merle who'd hightailed it home to grab his motorcycle and the original of the winged vest matching the one he'd given Daryl when he'd gotten his first bike, a little Harley Sportster, because the kid had so admired his big brother's leathers.

But the biggest surprise had been Rick. After the hearing had reached its surprising conclusion, Andrea had taken Daryl to her office where he found his best friend and Shane waiting. Michonne had taken Carol to the Greene farm on the back roads, just ahead of the roadblocks, meeting Maggie there so they could get the unresponsive woman into the safety of the tunnels.

"The tunnels?" Daryl had asked, worried about Carol's well being.

"Hershel says it's more of a deep basement storm shelter space—well equipped, stocked with supplies, cots—dates back to antebellum times," Rick told him, stripping out of his uniform shirt.

"Underground Railroad?" Daryl asked, well acquainted with the concept from hearing his father rant about the idea that the county had harbored, in his words, "traitor nigger lovers."

Rick nodded. Shane dug around in his duffle bag, pulling out his shaving kit.

"Sorry dude, but the whiskers got to go." Shane said.

"Come on, get outa the suit, brother. We don't have much time." Rick ordered Daryl, but he didn't move.

"What's goin' on, Rick?" Daryl asked, narrowing his eyes, "Last I knew you were tryin' to haul my ass back up a cliff named Carol and now you're helping us be _together_?"

"Hey, gift horses, man." Shane admonished Daryl, "We don't got time for this now."

"Let's just say Shane helped me see the error of my ways." Rick said dryly, undoing his gun and utility belt buckle and pulling it off to set on the desk.

"Don't see no blood or bruises on y'all," Daryl said, "Musta been a civilized _chat_ for a change." and he thought back to the day the men had traded haymakers on the side of the road on one memorable occasion during the knock down drag outs they had over Lori way back when.

"For a change." Shane agreed with a grin, holding up his electric razor.

"Thanks, man." Daryl said and Shane nodded and handed him the razor, which he set on the desk, and then he started loosening his tie so he could take it off, but stopped and pulled off the suit jacket first, handing it to Shane.

"She's a good woman, Daryl—you got lucky—just like this asshole." Shane said, indicating Rick with a toss of his head.

"He was right and I was wrong." Rick said, shrugging, "and I don't say that too often, so you both better just shut the fuck up and let it go."

Shane and Daryl traded raised eyebrow grins and nods of agreement with Rick's admission and then the erstwhile plumber continued to remove the suit so he could transform himself into a deputy.

* * *

"She's with us again?" Michonne said from behind him. The psychiatrist had been seated at the small table reading over Glenn's files about Blake on her I-Pad. What she'd discovered had made her extremely worried for them all. The man clearly had a narcissistic personality disorder, and if guilty of what they suspected him, the callous running down of a little girl in the street and the murder of her father, possibly even his own wife's murder, it might mean that he was a sociopath as well.

"She's awake." Daryl said without taking his eyes away from Carol, who looked towards the sound of the other woman's voice, and then suddenly everything came crashing back to her and she sat up, panicked.

_"Oh god_—oh no...Oh no..._Sophia!"_ and she ripped herself away from Daryl and doubled over, vomiting onto the floor on the other side of the cot. Michonne immediately came out of her chair, grabbed a couple of towels from the shelves next to the table and went to the cot, sitting beside Carol on the opposite side from where Daryl's chair was.

"Carol?" Daryl said, leaning across to put his hand on her back, all sweaty and trembling now, but she flinched away from his touch, which worried him as much as her cry of her child's name and getting sick.

_"I failed her...I failed her..."_ Caryl mumbled, weeping and retching again, dry heaving when nothing more came up. Michonne threw one of the towels down to cover the mess on the floor and gently laid the other in Carol's lap so she could use it to wipe her face. Carol flinched back from that kindness as well and scrambled off the cot, going off over the foot of it, away from both Daryl and Michonne. She looked around the room, obviously disoriented, but when she realized there were no windows she started hyperventilating.

"Are we underground?" she gasped, backing up and looking wildly around her.

"Carol, it's ok, you're _safe_..." Daryl said standing and holding his hands out to her.

"_No_—no, I _can't!"_ Carol cried, spotting the stairs and running for them. She made it half way to the top before he caught her, and she fought him, her irrational panic from her fear of being trapped in an enclosed space trumping everything else, hitting him with her fists, scratching when that didn't work.

"Carol –sweetheart—stop! _Stop!_" Daryl tried to soothe her, but she was breaking his heart.

"_Please! Please let me out—please I can't stand it!"_ Carol sobbed and Daryl lifted and carried her up the rest of the stairs and slammed open the deadbolt locks so he could take her outside.

They startled Shane, who had changed out of his uniform and was chopping away at the large overturned dead tree near the entrance, their cover for anyone who was on guard outside the shelter.

"Daryl?" Shane asked, coming closer, but Daryl waved him off.

"Claustrophobia." Daryl said tersely, "Give us some space."

Shane nodded and back off, watching as Daryl set Carol down on one of the sawed off tree stumps and knelt in front of her.

"Open your eyes, darlin'—we're out." Daryl said gently and Carol took a hitched breath before she did it, but then sighed brokenly in relief.

"He'd lock me up...Ed..." she said, her eyes wide, looking at Daryl with such terror that he just shook his head in bewilderment. "In the old fruit cellar of our house...no windows...no light..."

_"Fucking bastard."_ Daryl bit out, and Carol's face crumpled in sorrow, and she reached out to him, needing to hold onto something or she knew she'd die over what she had to tell him next. Agonizing sobs racked her body, but they weren't for her own suffering, they were for Sophia.

"It's ok—it's all right, he can't hurt you or anyone else ever again." Daryl said, rubbing her back soothingly. He saw Michonne emerge from the cellar, looking concerned, but held up a hand asking her to stay back, and she moved to stand beside Shane instead.

_"He hurt Sophia."_ Carol whispered so softly Daryl could barely hear her. "I didn't know."

Daryl frowned—how would her mother not have seen any evidence of a man beating her own child? And then it hit him with sick realization...what Carol meant.

"Oh shit." Daryl said under his breath. A stricken Michonne put her hand on Shane's arm and the deputy looked away, his stomach in knots and furious at what sickness there was in the world, thinking, _money, sex __and__ kids this time..._

"How could I not_ know_, Daryl? She was my baby—my little girl! How could I not know he was doing those things to her?" Carol cried, her eyes wide and full of tears. "Why didn't she ever tell me?" she gulped and let her face fall against his chest, sobbing silently as he gathered her against him.

Daryl looked at Michonne, tears in his eyes for the pain and guilt Carol was suffering, knowing he needed the therapist's help to get Carol through this devastating realization of a truth she'd suppressed for so long. She gave him a quick nod of understanding.

"You're exposed, out here in the open, Daryl." Shane cautioned, "Need to get back under cover."

Daryl rubbed Carol's back until her sobs eased.

"Carol? You think you can go back in the shelter?" Daryl asked carefully, "Got lotsa lights and it's _safe_." he told her.

"You'll stay?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him.

"Hold your hand the whole time." Daryl promised, taking her's in his and holding on tightly.

"I'll try." Carol said, still fearful but trusting Daryl.

* * *

"How in the hell did they get away from you?" Phillip Blake railed at the two deputies standing in front of him.

"Must've gotten the woman out before the blockade went up—found some way to smuggle Dixon past us..." Shumpert said, "...maybe went overland, stayed off the roads?"

"Or they're still here somewhere in town, laying low." Crowley offered, hoping the alternate theory would mitigate the wrath of the boss.

"If you'd have put that bitch down like you were supposed to in the first place I wouldn't have to be spending all this time and effort trying to find her and we wouldn't have Dixon and his do-gooder friends on our asses as well." Blake said with quiet menace.

"She should've been home—the woman never went anywhere at night the whole time we was watching her." Crowley whined. They'd planned to take her out in a gas explosion, but the boss had changed his mind at the last minute and ordered the fire, set in such a way that it would incriminate Dixon, who had pissed him off that day at the court house.

A little research into the local man's past and a few discrete phone calls had revealed the story about how Daryl's mother had died and Blake knew taking out a woman he was protective of in the same way would add a nice little insider twist to the enterprise. Phillip Blake was all about the twist.

"Until she met that fucking plumber." Shumpert grunted.

"Don't you mean the plumber she's _fucking?_" Blake asked, looking down at the telephoto lens photographs of the couple taken at the Grimes farm that morning, embracing, kissing passionately as they said goodbye before he left for court.

"Married woman, fucking the first redneck that comes along," Crowley said with disgust.

"Widow now though." Shumpert reminded his partner, and then grimaced, looking over at Blake speculatively. If the lawyer knew anything about her husband's death, he wasn't telling.

"Wonder if they'll ever find the rest of old Ed Peletier?" Crowley asked to the room at large, also curious to know whether or not Blake had the man 'taken care of.'

"Depends." Blake said, taking a sip of his bourbon.

"On what?" Crowley frowned.

"On how hard they look." Phillip Blake said, and then opened a small wooden box on his desk and reached in, lifting out a large man's ring, exactly like the one he wore on his right hand.

The phone on his desk buzzed and he pushed the speaker button.

"What is it, Rowan?"

"It's five o'clock, sir, your daughter is here." the pretty brunette secretary said.

"Thank you. Send her in, please."

"Yes sir."

"That will be all for now—keep me apprised of your progress in the search. Continue the surveillance on the Grimes and the lawyer." Blake ordered. "They may lead us to Dixon and his woman after all."

"Yes sir." both deputies said.

The door to the outer office came open and an unsmiling small blonde girl, about eight or nine walked through. She wore a bright pink dress and white sweater over black patent leather MaryJanes and white knee socks, her long hair hanging down her back, but held off her face with a pink ribbon. She looked like a refugee from the 1950s sitcom, _Father Knows Best._

"Penny! There's my girl!" Blake said, smiling and standing up, holding out his arms to his daughter who soundlessly moved into his embrace.

When the door closed behind them the two deputies exchanged a slightly sick smile.

"That kid seriously creeps me out." Crowley murmured.

"Tell me about it." said the sharp eared secretary, shivering noticeably.

* * *

"There was another girl—there in the house..." Carol told them. She, Michonne and Daryl sat at the café table, Carol's hand tightly held in Daryl's. She had finally gotten through her account of what she had seen at the house that day, the reason Sophia had run so blindly into the path of the truck, which man had been driving it, what she had seen Ed holding...

"A little girl?" Michonne asked and Carol nodded.

"Blonde, younger than Sophia..." Carol swallowed hard, fighting her urge to be sick again. "Un...undressed..." she choked out, "...like Sophia..."

_"_God _damn _it_."_ Daryl cursed; _"Sick fucks_—" but a glare from Michonne cut him off mid rant.

"That's enough." Michonne told him and they both looked at Carol, who was trembling, silent tears streaking her face. Not wanting to risk sending her back into catatonia, the psychiatrist decided they needed a break. She also needed to go up and call in to Andrea and Rick to let them know just what Carol had recalled.

"Sounds about right." Daryl agreed, putting his left hand over top of Carol's, already held in his right, tracing his thumb back and forth over the back of her hand.

"There's some soup in the thermos—see if you can get her to eat." Michonne advised, gesturing towards the basket of supplies Maggie had brought by earlier.

"I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself." Carol said in a weary but petulant voice.

"Well damn, that blows my lil' hurt/comfort plot right outa the water." Daryl drawled and Carol gave a tiny snort at his impertinence.

"Eat something and get some rest, both of you. I'm heading up to make some calls." Michonne said, and then she stood and headed for the stairs.

"Dr. Kendall?" Carol asked.

"What is it, dear?" Michonne asked, stopping and turning to face the table.

"Thank you...and thank Shane, Glenn and Rick for getting me out of there, would you?" she requested, having been filled in on the day's events by Daryl.

"And everyone else who helped with the roadblocks." Daryl added. Michonne nodded with a small smile and then headed up the stairs.

"Think there's a toothbrush in there?" Carol asked, looking at the duffle bag of clothes and supplies Maggie had brought them along with the food.

"I wouldn't doubt it." Daryl said, giving her hand a squeeze before releasing it and leaning over to snag the duffle. He brought the bag up on the table and rifled through it, coming up with two prepackaged travel kits, each with deodorant, a travel toothbrush, toothpaste and mouthwash, a tiny bottle each of shampoo and cream rinse and a small plastic comb.

"All the conveniences of a fine hotel." Daryl quipped and handed her the female version of the kit, with floral deodorant instead of musk, which was in the male. Other than that they were exactly the same.

"I hate throwing up. It makes me sick." Carol said, wiping her face with her hand and digging through the clear plastic kit to take out the toothbrush and paste.

"There's running water and an actual toilet in the next room." Daryl told her. Hershel had once told him that there were five wells on the property. On his way from town with Shane today the other deputy had told him that Hershel, Rick and Otis had laid pipe to and installed plumbing in this shelter from the deepest well right next to the foundations of the original house. That was how Rick knew about the place, which made possible his plan to get them safely away.

Otis was trying to convince Hershel to let him add a marine battery powered electrical system for the place, but the expense had stopped those plans for now. There was a small generator up top in a small shed that housed the woodpile, where it was used to power the log splitter. They had run lines down to the shelter, but it was noisy, so they probably wouldn't be using it during their stay.

Carol started to stand, but swayed, a little unsteady on her feet. Daryl was quickly standing beside her, supporting her, but she made a disgusted sound at her own weakness.

"_I'm fine_." she said, sounding angry, pushing at his arms, but he just held her.

"How could you be?" Daryl asked softly, kissing the top of her head.

"Don't... Daryl...please don't." Carol begged him.

"Don't what?" he asked.

"Don't tell me everything will be ok—that we'll get through this and go on." Carol said coldly.

"It'll _never_ be like it was before you lost your girl...somebody else can't just fill that hole, I know that...not me...not another baby...not nothin'" Daryl agreed, "That's just how it works. People you love are gonna die—you can never be ready for it, never really get over it. But what you do after...well, that _is_ up to you. Never pegged you for the kind to just give up."

Daryl knew it wasn't just that Sophia had died, of course. It was also what had happened to the girl before she'd run into the street that day. Even though the abuse perpetrated against him hadn't been sexual, he still never actually _told_ anyone what happened to him in his home. All of the times he'd shown up bruised and bloodied at school, even when he'd practically crawled to the Grimes after his father had whipped him, he would never say the words that would've begun an investigation into his father's actions. It was how he'd punished himself for almost thirty years for failing his mother. He understood Sophia. He understood Carol. He'd lived both their pain, from the _inside._

"Let me help you?" he asked her, "You don't have to do this alone anymore."

Carol looked at him. She'd been alone for so long; her whole life until she'd had Sophia. She would've done anything for her child; died for her if that's what it took, killed for her...but in the end it hadn't made any difference. One bad choice, one wrong man she'd let into her life and everything she'd loved had been shattered from the inside.

"I want to, Daryl...I do...but I've been so wrong about so many things that I don't trust myself..." Carol whispered and then hugged herself and looked down at the floor.

"Then start by trusting _me." _Daryl said, his voice so full of emotion that her head came up and her eyes met his, warm sincere and blue.

* * *

"And you'll start out here, on the shrink wrap line, Connie. When the orders come down the belt, you double check the list of selected books or DVDs and then wrap and heat them before they go into the card board mailer—got that?" the supervisor asked the newest employee sent to Peletier packaging by the Blue Moon Temp Agency. It was the so called swing shift, starting at 4 p.m. and running to midnight.

"I think so Mr. Samuels," the young red head said brightly, snapping her chewing gum loudly, studying the line workers' motions carefully.

"You can call me Ryan—we're kind of on a first name basis here—the work conditions are just nigh of shitty, so any formality is sorta ridiculous."

"So why do you stay_...Ryan_?"

"In this economy? A job's a job." Samuels shrugged. "I got two kids to support and this pays better than fast food—barely—so I stay."

"Who's that?" Connie said, looking over at an attractive willowy African American woman using a tablet device and scanner to check inventory.

"Kimberly White, some outside accounting firm they brought in to do an inventory in preparation for the sale—if it still happens now that the owner kicked it."

"I saw that on the news—what happened?"

"Rumor is his wife finally did the right thing and took him out."

"_She _killed him?" Connie's eyes went wide.

"Wouldn't surprise me. He beat on her, treated her like garbage for years. She finally left him after their daughter was killed in a car accident; looked like she got herself a boyfriend with some balls and they took care of it."

"So they were divorced?"

"Nope—she used her window—still married, still inherits this place. If the sale still goes through she's gonna be one _merry _widow."

"Huh." Connie said, "Not sure whether I'm impressed or appalled."

"Welcome to Peletier Packaging." Ryan said with a knowing laugh.

* * *

Three hours later, when she was supposed to be on her lunch break, the young woman, disguised in a red wig and ill fitting Blue Moon Temp Agency t-shirt, sat in the third toilet stall of the second floor women's rest room using her knife to open a the first of a 3 set DVD of the _Pippi Longstocking_ series from the 1960s. She popped the DVD into a drive on the small portable PC she'd brought in her messenger bag style purse and hit download while she watched the credits silently roll by on the bizarre little film until the images abruptly changed into something truly vile and she cried out in shock and almost dropped the PC. Only the plastic DVD sleeve fell with a loud clack.

"Oh God." Maggie Green said, sickened. She attached the file to an e-mail and sent it to Glenn with a short coded warning about the content. She took the DVD out and snapped it in two with her bare hands and again until it was in small enough pieces to flush as well.

She reached down and lifted the case and replaced the DVD with a blank one, closed it all back up and flushed the original shrink wrap. She'd need to reseal it before she put it back in the set from which she'd taken it. That was one pervert who'd not get all of what he paid for. She stuffed everything back in her bag, stood and pushed open the door.

"May I ask what you were doing in there with that DVD?" a strident voice asked.

Standing with her arms crossed in front of her, was the accountant, Kimberly White, with an _I'm so not buying your shit_ expression firmly set on her face.

_Caught pilfering the merchandise on her first day, good stealthiness, not, Maggie_, the girl thought to herself. What if this woman was one of Blake's operatives? How much danger was she really in?

"I'm waiting, Miss Murphy." the stern faced woman in the sleek grey suit said.

"I just love me some Pippi, ya know?" Maggie drawled with a shrug, popping her gum. "Can't afford to buy it—didn't think it was a big deal."

"Illegally downloading copyrighted entertainment is a Federal offense punishable with a fine of up to $250,000 and up to 5 years in prison. Don't you pay attention to the warning on _every_ DVD?"

Maggie shrugged again airily.

"Hand it over please." Ms. White asked, holding out her hand.

Maggie pulled the DVD jewel case out of her purse and gave it to the other woman.

"And I'll watch you delete the file as well."

Maggie sighed, put upon, and got out the PC, making a show of opening the menu and deleting the dummy file she'd labeled 'Pippi'. She had saved the real one under a file she'd called 'sic.'

Satisfied, White motioned for Maggie to shut off and close up the PC. Putting it back in her purse, Maggie straightened and stood, waiting expectantly to be fired.

"You can go now."

"Do I still get paid for tonight?" Maggie asked, sure that's what a real employee would do.

"I don't work for Peletier Packaging, Miss Murphy." White said, mimicking Maggie's earlier shrug. "As far as I'm concerned this matter is now closed. Now get back to work."

Maggie smiled brightly, happy that she hadn't totally screwed the pooch on her first undercover assignment.

"You're all right, Kimberly!" Maggie said enthusiastically.

"Ms. White." the officious woman sniffed.

"Yes ma'am." Maggie said deferentially and hurried out the door.

Slumping back against the sink counter, the other woman touched the ear piece hidden under her artfully style hair.

"You get all that, Morales?" she asked her partner.

"Yeah, Sasha. Our best evidence of any criminal activity so far and it's some cracker Irish chick with a Pippi Longstocking fixation. How low have we Fibbies fallen? Mulder and Scully would never stand for this shit." he sounded disgusted.

"We didn't join the FBI to hunt aliens, _ese_. And if I wanted to be surrounded by criminals all day long I'd go work for my brother at West Georgia." Sasha Williams told her partner.

"How's Tyreese getting' along up there now?"

"You know, it's a pressure cooker, but he thrives on it so he's..." Sasha looked down at the opened DVD and curious, opened it, studying the smooth reflective surface, wondering why it had no label or any identifying information. She broke open the second one in the set and saw that it had a picture of the oddly coiffed heroine of the films on its surface as did the third.

"Sasha? You ok?" Morales asked, wondering why she'd stopped talking in mid-sentence.

"That's odd..."

"What?"

"Nothing—I'm fine—I'll see you at midnight." Sasha said, sounding distracted, pushing the button to disconnect, wondering who exactly the young red head she'd sent back inside the plant was and what she was_ really_ doing there.

* * *

"Daryl." Carol whispered, moving against him. They had fallen asleep on the cot, spooned together, her back to his front. They were alone, Michonne having gone hours ago, Jimmy standing watch outside, spelling Shane who was bunking down in the tent they'd erected, pretending to be camping out there near the edge of the woods surrounding the farm.

Carol turned to face Daryl. It was so quiet here, so peaceful. No city noises, no country ones for that matter. Just silence except for the sounds of their breathing.

He had left a lantern burning on the small table so she wouldn't have to wake to darkness and she shuddered a bit as she remembered how far inside the earth they were...like a grave...she gripped Daryl's strong biceps, digging her fingers in.

"Daryl?" she whispered again, looking up into his face. He looked boyish, more vulnerable, relaxed in sleep and without the scruffy sandy brown beard that usually covered his pointed chin and the moustache over his upper lip. She felt like she was seeing a more innocent, younger version of him, wished she'd met him then, instead of the monster she'd married.

"What—what's wrong?" Daryl said, opening his eyes and sucking in a breath, trying to sit up, but she was gripping his arms so tightly he was afraid he'd hurt her if he tried to pull away, so he subsided back down onto the cot.

Carol was staring at him intently.

"Bad dream? Walls closin' in?" he asked her, concerned.

"I never asked you how your hearing went." she said.

"You think I made a jail break or somethin' so's I could be with you?" he teased.

"Be pretty romantic—not too smart—but definitely romantic." she said, her mouth curving into a smile despite her underlying fear.

"Nothin' coulda kept me away from you." Daryl told her.

"Not even Rick?" Carol asked.

"Rick had a change of heart."

"That why you're wearing his uniform?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. It made her feel a little weird, like she was in bed with the deputy instead of Daryl.

"You don't like it?" Daryl asked, "I could take it off..." he murmured suggestively, hoping he was reading her right. She'd had a hell of a bad day—they both had—but they were alone together now and he wanted to be with her...

"That might be best." Carol agreed, a dimple appearing in her cheek as she tried to give him a serious look, suppressing her smile. She released her death grip on his arms so he could sit up.

"Don't be expectin' no Chippendales routine now." he admonished, working the buttons of the shirt as she watched, letting watching him take over her mind, redirecting her fear of the closed in space, her sadness over what she had remembered deeper inside the recesses of her mind.

"Think I got some dollar bills around here somewhere..." she teased back, "Sexy deputy _is_ a crowd pleaser...though I prefer hot plumber..." she grinned, remembering the day they'd met.

Daryl snorted, pulling the uniform shirt off and waving it in a circle above his head before tossing it to the floor, making her actually giggle

"You need me to snake some pipes fer ya there, ma'am?" he drawled, standing so he could remove his pants, deliberately taking it slowly, drawing it out for her. She laughed and slid her legs around over the side of the cot so she could watch him better.

"I bet you say that to all the—" she began, but before she could finish the teasing remark he was on his knees in front of her.

"_Never_—only ever _you._" he said, all teasing left behind as he met her eyes. She reached her hand out to his face, felt his smooth cheek, kissing him there and then reached down with both hands to help him pull off the white t-shirt he'd worn under the tan shirt. Her fingers lightly brushed the mark she'd left on his collar bone that morning, sucking down hard, tasting him, and branding him as hers.

Daryl undressed her quickly then, removing his briefs as well and lay her back on the cot, but then saw her panicked look as he loomed over her and shifted their positions so she was astride him. She relaxed then, free to move and leaned down, letting her breasts' taut nipples rub against the fur on his chest as her lips finally found his.

Daryl groaned, deepening the kiss, his hands cupping her breasts, and she arched against him. He kissed his way down her neck and chest, finally worshiping her breasts with both his hands and mouth, making her crazy with desire.

"Need you inside me—please..." Carol moaned and he helped her, lifting her up so she could push down on him, hard and primed for her.

And then for a time it was only about the two of them, inside, alone in the safety of their little bubble, while the good and bad of the world outside went on without them.

* * *

_**Sasha made a perfect FBI agent; letting both she and Tyreese be in law enforcement seemed somehow right and yes, her partner is the Morales from the Quarry camp; 'cracker Irish Connie Murphy,' Maggie's alias, is another little salute to BDS, combining the MacManus brother's first names; Rowan, Blake's secretary here, is the woman who gave Andrea & Michonne the introduction to Woodbury in S3 TWD, and was the Governor's bedmate before Andrea.**_

_**Symbolically being the "inside man" is about disguise and subterfuge, working from within to bring down an organization, which Blake's deputies, Sasha and Maggie personify in this chapter, but in the end it's Daryl who **__**literally**__** gets to be one, LOL. I do so love a good double entendre. **_


	17. Chapter 17: Burning Lies

_**Daryl and Carol discover something unexpected and the task force looking into Phillip Blake gets a break.**_

* * *

**"Burning Lies"**

"_**Lies are neither bad nor good. Like a fire they can either keep you warm or burn you to death, depending on how they're used."**_** ― Max Brooks, **_**World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War**_

"Daryl?" Carol asked, as she woke and saw that he was sitting at the small table reading something, dressed now in some of Jimmy's clothes, jeans and a western shirt. She rose from the cot, pulled on the white t-shirt that he'd been wearing earlier and walked to the table, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around him. He leaned back into her, and she was glad of his warmth since she had become chilled just from the short walk across the underground room.

"Looking through the papers that Karen brought the other day." Daryl told her. He'd been carrying them around in his backpack ever since.

"What's this one?" she said, looking at an envelope, yellowed with age, that he was turning over and over in his hands.

"It was in a safe deposit box opened by my mother for me."

"Your mother?" Carol asked, and he felt her shiver against him.

"You cold? Come're." Daryl pulled her around to sit on his lap, cradling her against him and then handed her the envelope.

Carol admired the fine penmanship, his name written in cursive script, '_Daryl Eugene.'_

_ "Eugene?" _she smiled.

"Family name—my momma's daddy." Daryl told her.

Carol turned the envelope over, saw that it was still sealed and looked at him questioningly.

"You've had it all this time and you never opened it?"

"I didn't have it—it was in the box—I didn't know about it. She opened it the summer before she died..." Daryl said with a sigh.

"And you're not curious?"

"Confused more'n anything—I mean _why_ would she do that?"

"Maybe she didn't want your father to know about it." Carol said, voicing what had been his first thought on the matter. "You were what, eight?"

"Yeah."

"Well?"

"What?"

"Are you going to open it?"

"What if it's something I don't want to know?" Daryl asked, pondering of all of the possibilities. Why would his mother have felt it necessary to put something in writing in a safe deposit box?

"I've recently found it's better to face your truths than try to hide from them." She said, resting her head on his chest and her brave pain filled sigh made him feel like a coward.

Daryl took a deep breath and nodded to her. Carol ran her finger under the envelope flap and the old paper easily gave way.

There were three documents inside, the first was a handwritten letter and the second two were sealed in their own envelopes.

"Read it to me?" Daryl asked, wanting her there with him to face whatever truths his mother's words brought.

"Are you sure? This is something private—your mom intended it just for you." Carol said.

"I'm sure." he told her, so she opened the tri-folded pages and smoothed them out.

_"My darling boy,"_ Carol read, _"if your brother does as he promised, you will get this letter on your eighteenth birthday," _she stopped and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"God damn it!_ Fuckin' Merle!"_ Daryl groused.

_"I know it's probably not the best plan, but if I went to a lawyer Tom would find out and I've never been much for the clergy, so Merle is my only option."_

_ "_Well, at least she had her reservations." Daryl said dryly.

"_As I write this to you, Daryl, you have gone to spend the night at your new friend Rick Grimes' house and I couldn't be happier."_

"But not about Rick it seems." Carol said, looking up at Daryl who gave her a small smile.

"She and his dad made us play together so we'd stop tryin' to kill each other." Daryl explained.

"Why were you trying to kill each other?" Carol said, a bit confused, setting the letter down on the table so she could focus her attention on him.

"He said some things about my family...about Merle...we was eight...just dumb kid stuff..." Daryl said evasively.

"Daryl? What?"

"You know Merle was in the service? Well, it was either that or prison after he pulled a B&E over in Woodbury—he was 20, aged out of Juvie, would've done real time. Rick's dad arrested him and Rick found out about it and told the kids in our class." Daryl explained.

"Why would he do that?" Carol asked, her brow crinkling with concern. It sounded like a cruel thing for anyone to do, let alone a child. Daryl shrugged.

"Thought he had one over on me I guess—we weren't friends, butted heads all year. Like I said we were dumb kids." Daryl told her.

"So what changed?" Carol asked.

"He saved me." Daryl said and at Carol's puzzled look he elaborated. "We were hiking—I almost fell off a cliff and he saved me. Been friends ever since."

"He saved your life..." Carol said, impressed.

"Lotta that going around." Daryl said and surprised her with a lingering kiss, grinning at her. "_Hey-good mornin'_" he told her, realizing he hadn't said it yet. He'd awoke to her in his arms still sleeping soundly and had eased out of the bed to head upstairs and find out if there was any more news about Blake or the murder. Shane told him there was going to be a meeting of all of the law enforcement agencies involved in the investigation this morning and he hoped that they'd be able to coordinate their efforts to nail Blake to the wall.

"Good morning." she said, smiling and kissed him back. Her arms went around his neck and she played with his hair and his right hand slid to her hip, rubbing a circular caress there, shifting the t-shirt so he could get to the soft skin underneath. Carol reached her hand down to stop him from lifting the shirt higher.

"Now what'd you go an' do than for?" Daryl murmured a protest, nuzzling her neck.

"The letter." she admonished, "It's important Daryl."

"Waited 27 years, can wait a couple more hours..." he said.

"A couple of _hours_?" Carol laughed, feeling herself blush,_ "Daryl!"_ Despite the circumstances of their isolation, she couldn't help but be happy it meant they had this time alone together and they had definitely made the best of it last night. She never knew just how amazing it could be to make love with someone she so completely trusted. Every time they were together it got even better...but at the moment he was using their chemistry to avoid facing whatever his mother had wanted him to know when he turned 18.

Carol twisted slightly so she could grab the letter off of the table and started reading again, even as he started nibbling on her ear.

_"What I need to tell you will be hard for you to hear, but now that you are a man I hope that you will have the strength and the support of the Grimes family to help you understand it. I believe you will stay friends with Rick and that Travis will watch out for you. It's up to you whether or not you choose to tell them what the contents of this letter reveal, because it will change their lives just as it will undoubtedly change yours."_ Carol took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow.

Daryl stopped what he was doing and sat up straighter, a puzzled frown on his face.

"Are you sure you want me to read this? Maybe you should...?" Carol asked.

"No secrets." Daryl said, shaking his head, his tone serious. "Please?" Carol cocked her head at him, looking into his stoic face, his mouth set, preparing for whatever the news was, good or bad.

"_Nine years ago from the time I am writing this letter in 1986, I made a choice and I have had to live with the consequences ever since. You are part of that choice...in a way you __are__ that choice."_ Carol looked up at Daryl, now frowning.

"_After Merle was born_, _Tom and I grew apart. He had his son and that was really all he had required of me other than to keep his house clean. He found his pleasures elsewhere, but refused to give me a divorce. I could tell you that I was lonely, sad, lost, and all of that is true, but the reality is that I never loved Tom Dixon. I married him because he got me pregnant and that was what our parents insisted on. It meant hurting someone that I loved very much, the boy that I met and fell in love with three months after I had broken up with Tom, before I knew I was pregnant. And here's where the hard part comes in. That boy was Travis Grimes." _

Daryl sucked in a breath.

"Did you know that?" Carol asked him and Daryl shook his head in negation, starting to feel light headed.

_"I stayed away from him. For the sake of my husband and son, for twelve years I stayed away from him. Even when Tom became abusive, when Merle started acting out...I stayed away. But the universe conspired against us. Travis became a deputy and was the one who took the call when Merle was caught shop lifting. When he realized the boy was my son, he called me. I still loved him...I should've stayed away, but I couldn't. I'd missed him too much._

_Sarah was already pregnant with Rick. Travis loved her. What we did that night was wrong, but what came from it, __who__ came from it, __you__, my sweet Daryl, wasn't wrong."_

"Oh my god, Daryl..." Carol was stunned.

"Don't stop." Daryl grated out. He needed to hear it all.

"_I never told Travis he was your father. I got Tom drunk and went to his bed and made him believe that he was. You were born three weeks late, so you helped hide my secret. Until you boys ended up in the same classroom this past year I hadn't talked to Travis since that night._

_But now you are friends with Rick. The Grimes have welcomed you into their home. I know they care about you. Merle is old enough to take care of himself—I hope the Army will make a man out of him. I hope he does right by you. He does love you, no matter how much like his daddy he can sometimes be. He's still your brother, please never forget that._

_I have no reason to stay with Tom and suffer at his hands any longer. I've drawn up papers that will let you be with your real father. I hope you will be happy to find out that a man you respect is your daddy and that the boy who saved your life is your half brother. And that Tom Dixon is not your kin._

_When you read this I will be long gone, and I'm sorry that I couldn't take you with me, but I need to start over and I don't think I can take care of you when I can barely take care of myself. Travis will make sure you are safe. I hope that I will be in a position to contact you around the time that you are reading this—on your 18__th__ birthday—from wherever I end up. I want to go back to school, I want to live by the ocean, I want to be free._

_You are smart and you are strong and you are so brave. And I love you. You have to do what's right. You promise me you'll always do what's right. It's so easy to do the wrong thing in this world. So if it feels wrong, don't do it, all right? If it feels easy, don't do it. Don't let the world swallow you. You're so good, my sweet boy. You and your brother are the best things I ever did. Goodnight love, __your Mother, Eleanor __Dixon.__' _and she drew a line through her last name." Carol finished, her heart in her throat.

"Daryl, are you ok?" Carol looked at Daryl. He shook his head at her absently, nodding it up and down. He took the stationery from her hands and looked at the date again.

"She wrote this three days before she died." Daryl said tonelessly, still trying to process what Carol had read.

Everything he thought he knew about himself, everything believed, everything he'd gone through, his very _name_, it was all wrong...a lie...he wasn't a Dixon.

He was a _Grimes._

* * *

"I don't have much time, Milton." Detective Morgan Jones said quickly, his tone dismissive, "Got called into a big taskforce meeting."

"It's important or I wouldn't have bothered you." the officious man said, his voice slightly nasal, but sounding excited.

"Go on then." Morgan gestured impatiently.

The M.E. held up a small vial that held several small brown fibers, shaking it, making them dance around the bottom of the container.

"I found these in the decapitation wound on Peletier."

"And they are?"

"Cellulose—plant fibers—loblolly pine to be specific." Mamet said, appearing fascinated at the small bottle's contents.

"Someone chopped off his head with a pine tree?" Morgan asked sarcastically. The scientist was doing it to him again. Acting like it was a fucking game of twenty questions instead of getting right to the point.

"No." the M.E. chuckled. "Someone 'chopped off' his head with the same thing they used to chop these fibers...these _cardboard_ fibers."

"Cardboard—like the kind they make _packaging_ boxes out of?" Morgan asked, his face drawing up into a slow smile.

"Precisely." Mamet said, nodding, pleased at the detective's deduction.

"I think that's enough to get us a search warrant, don't you?" Morgan said with satisfaction.

"There's more. I was able to get a closer time of death than I first estimated." Mamet said with a frown. "Peletier was killed forty-eight to fifty hours before his head was discovered in the grave."

"But we have witnesses—several of his employees saw him leave the plant that afternoon..."

"So either Mr. Ed Peletier has a twin, or—"

"Or someone working at that plant is lying..." Morgan said darkly.

* * *

"This is a waste of my time, sir...can't Morales... Fine, yes, I'll be there." Sasha Williams hung up on her Deputy Director. He had called to order her presence at the joint taskforce meeting taking place that morning in Peachtree City.

"What're you volunteering me for now?" her partner asked, opening the door of their rental car and handing her a carton containing two hot beverage cups.

"Meeting with the local yokels. Some county prosecutor's got his panties in a bunch about that local lawyer running for mayor of Woodbury-same one buying the packaging company." Sasha said, waiting for Morales to finish getting in their rental car.

"Blake? Yeah, that guy gives me the willies. Got them shark eyes...cold, dead..." Morales said, sinking his bulk into the passenger's side seat. Sasha handed him back the carton and then took her cup out of it. He set the carton on the dash so he could withdraw his own.

"I met him—seems like every other politician lawyer I know—cool, ambitious, driven." Sasha said with a shrug. Morales had ambitions of being a profiler and so often ascribed more Psych 101 crap to the personalities involved in a case than she. She'd come to the bureau with a PhD in Forensic accounting. She knew numbers, not people. She followed where the money led her on a case.

"Mark my words, whatever ugly secret's at the root of this case, it's sick, and it's got both Blake and Peletier's fingerprints all over it." Morales intoned as Sasha tentatively sipped at her too hot Chai tea.

* * *

_ "I can't._ I can't deal with this right now." Daryl said with agitation, standing up and setting Carol on her feet so he could pace the small room. She had asked if he wanted to open the other two envelopes but he had shaken his head no and sat stiff when she tried to comfort him with an embrace.

"You had no idea?" Carol couldn't stop herself from wondering aloud.

"Not a fuckin' clue." Daryl said, running his hand back through his hair. His mother and Travis Grimes? They had always seemed friendly, but not overly so...and she and Sarah had become _friends _...how could she? After what she had done? Sleep with another woman's husband? And then he laughed out loud, a short ironic sound. It was exactly what he'd done with Carol. Like mother like son.

"What?" Carol asked, sitting down on the chair sideways so she could watch him pace, not wanting to agitate him further by approaching him. Old habits die hard.

"She always called me her 'little oops'..." Daryl said, half under his breath.

"Do you think Merle knew?" Carol asked, trying to put the pieces together in her head.

"Why do you think that..." Daryl began, but his voice trailed off as he thought about it.

"He never told you about the safe deposit box. You said he was already jealous of Rick. Maybe he thought that if you knew you and Rick were really brothers too he'd lose you. Or if your daddy—if Tom Dixon found out he'd lose you both-"

"She was leaving—the letter said she was _leaving,_" Daryl said, a feeling of sick dread coming over him.

"But she didn't—the fire—you said she died three days after this is dated. She never got the chance to get away like she planned." Carol knew how that felt, to be so close to escape but to be stopped by something out of your control.

"Maybe she was _stopped_." Daryl said, coming to stand beside her at the table, picking up the letter.

"What do you mean?" Carol asked him, worried about his response to this on top of everything else that was going on in their lives.

"Maybe someone _stopped _her. Someone who found out her secrets." Daryl said, realizing that the list of suspects would have to include members of both the family who had brutalized him most of his life as well as the ones who had cared for him and made him feel a part of theirs. Betrayal, jealousy, paternity—all good motives for murder.

"Daryl?" Carol asked and then reached over and took his hand and found he was shaking.

"Same someone who's been lyin' about it for the last 27 years..." Daryl said, his eyes narrowing.

* * *

"Ms. White?"

"Ms. Murphy?"

"What the hell..." Maggie said, shocked when the accountant from the plant walked into the boardroom where the task force meeting was taking place.

"What's wrong Maggie?" Andrea asked. She'd been extremely upset that Glenn had jumped the gun and sent Maggie into the packaging plant last night with no back up except a cell phone and him sitting outside in a van, but what they'd found, the evidence of what was really being shipped out of the plant, was what had brought them all here today.

"Maggie?" Sasha asked raising an eyebrow, looking back and forth between the women, "So your name _isn't _Connie Murphy?"

"And I take it yours isn't Kimberly White." Maggie said drolly.

"Ah, I see our two undercover agents have met." Jenner said as he came into the room, followed closely by Rick, Glenn and Michonne.

"Not officially." Maggie said, extending her hand to Sasha, "Maggie Greene."

"Special Agent Sasha Williams." Sasha said, taking the other woman's hand for a quick brisk shake and release.

"FBI?" Glenn asked with a grin as he looked the attractive young FBI agent up and down, not noticing Maggie's glare at him until she cleared her throat loudly. Chastened, Glenn sidled closer over to Maggie, bumping her with his hip in apology.

"This is now officially a Federal case." Jenner announced, reading off of an I-Pad screen on the table in front of him."Using a list of members of the Fraternal organization to which both Peletier and Woodbury businessman Phillip Blake belong to, a Tau Psi Delta, Ms. Greene was able to bring us evidence that child pornography is being shipped out of Peletier packaging under the guise of their subscription DVD sales."

"This is about kiddie porn?" Sasha asked, incredulous. The billions of dollars in underground black market trade in pornography of all types was something that vice squads around the country—hell, around the world attempted to stem the tide of annually, but barely made a dent. The exploitation of children was an especially heinous part of the whole sorry mess.

_"Sex, Lies and Videotape."_ Jenner nodded, referencing the old Soderbergh film, "Only in this case it's DVDs."

"Does what Maggie found give us enough to go on so we can conduct a raid on the plant?" Rick asked, wanting this to all be over as soon as possible so his life could get back to some semblance of order. So his best friend wouldn't have to hide out in a safe house and his wife and son wouldn't have to be surrounded by armed guards. People just weren't meant to live under constant stress like this.

"Unfortunately what Ms. Greene and Mr. Rhee did last night, in addition to being incredibly dangerous and therefore stupid, was an illegal search and seizure, which I'm sure you know, Deputy Grimes. Plus we still don't want to tip off Blake unless we have a damn good reason." Jenner said, shaking his head.

Morgan, standing next to Milton, raised his hand. He was smiling.

"Our M.E. just brought me good physical evidence that links the plant site to Peletier's murder—is that enough to get us a warrant?" Morgan asked smoothly, enjoying the grins that erupted around the room at the announcement.

Jenner stalked over to the men from Peachtree City and to Mamet's shock, enveloped him in a bear hug.

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about, ladies and gentlemen!" Jenner said. "Let's get moving on this!" As people started to leave the room to work on getting the warrant and making plans for what happened after, Jenner held a hand up to Glenn and beckoned him over.

"Sir?" Glenn said, doing his damnedest to look meek and apologetic.

"You got surveillance set up inside that plant?" Jenner asked, knowing Maggie had probably planted some small mobile digital recorders in unobtrusive sites around the plant.

"For someone to do that...well, that would be illegal sir." Glenn said, scoffing, deadpan.

"So it's 'ask me no questions; I'll tell you no lies'?" Jenner asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Why yes sir, I do believe it is." Glenn said nodding sagely.

"Good..._good._" Jenner said, nodding back, hoping that once they got the warrant, the search plus Glenn's footage of the plant would reveal all of Blake's secrets and lies.

* * *

_**AN:**__** Whew. Well, that was not where this chapter was exactly supposed to go when I started writing it, but I decided that now was the right time to pay off all of the little clues about something not quite right with how Ellie Dixon died. It's a lot to pile on poor Daryl right now, but I think in the end he'll be better off for knowing the truth. (And he has Carol here to support him: )**_

_**First loves are hard to let go of, and Ellie and Travis were only 18 when they were together. She'd given into Tom Dixon's pressure to have sex—he was the popular captain of the high school football team and she was pretty, but not of his social standing, so it was a coup to date him. Afterwards she knew it was a mistake and broke up with him. Ellie met Travis Grimes a short time later and they fell for each other. They never made love, but when she discovered she was pregnant he offered to marry her. When the doctor told her mother how many months she was along, her parents knew that Tom was the father and forced her to marry him, believing he had better prospects than Travis.**_

_**The question of how much anyone else involved knew about Ellie's secret and what really happened the night she died is our next big question, including how it will ripple out from here and possibly effect all of Daryl's relationships and bump up against the already frightening and dangerous problem posed by Phillip Blake...**_

_**Sharp eyed readers probably noticed I used part of Lori's farewell speech to Carl in Ellie's letter to Daryl. Ellie was giving up her son, hoping he would have a better life without her in it, so I thought the parallel was apt.**_

_**BTW: I love the perfect WWZ quote I found to start the chapter! The book is very different from the film of the same name & is an interesting take on zombie warfare. I especially like how they strap cameras on the back of dachshunds because they can worm their way in through debris fields to spot buried zombies dangerous to rescue crews!**_

_**Thanks to all readers, favs, follows & reviewers. Let me know what you think!**_


	18. Chapter 18: Honor Thy Father

_**We explore the complicated relationships of fathers and sons through a series of flashbacks.**_

_**Warning:**__** racist in character language.**_

_**Thanks to all the favorite, follows, and reviewers!**_

* * *

_**Honor Thy Father **_

"_Some men do not earn the love of their sons."_ Hershel Greene, _TWD_ S. 2. "Cherokee Rose"

**Merle**

"Lori? We got visitors—say they're here to surprise you and Rick , so you wouldn't be expecting them." Merle said into his cell phone as he stood at the cattle guard entrance to the Grimes farm, right off of the highway.

"Visitors?" Lori said, confused.

"It's Rick's folks, hon." Merle told her, looking at the older couple who had just alighted from their RV.

"Travis and Sarah?" Lori said happily. Rick's parents weren't due back from their trip for another three weeks, timed closer to the arrival of the baby.

Merle handed the cell phone to Travis.

"Hey darlin! Didn't expect to be arriving at an armed camp. " Retired Sheriff Travis Grimes said, his eye twitching as he looked at one of the last people he ever expected to see guarding the gate to his family's farm. What the hell was Merle Dixon doing here?

"Oh, dad, it's so good you and mom are here! Please—come up to the house?" Lori said, overjoyed to have them here. When Rick had gone to town for his meeting, leaving her and Carl there, under guard, she had started to feel like a prisoner in her own home. Having more family here, especially ones she trusted as much as she did Rick's parents felt like a god send.

"Sure, honey—be right there." Travis said, but when he hung up the phone he didn't immediately hand it back to Merle. Instead he held it up level with his shoulder, out of the other's man's reach while he gave Merle an assessing look. The elder Grimes was an imposing figure. At 68 and a broad-shouldered 6'2" he towered over Merle and his craggy handsome face was an older version of Rick's, with the same high cheekbones and blue eyes as both his sons.

Merle knew the truth of it; had known it since he had seen the lawman and his mother that night thirty-five years ago when he'd been a twelve-year-old kid. It was true Merle and Daryl were blood, but they weren't both Dixons.

Travis Grimes was Daryl's father.

_**1978**_

When Merle was caught shoplifting cigarettes on a dare the asshole shopkeeper had called the cops on him. Sheriff Grimes had taken him home, but he'd been lucky. His father was out-of-town and his mother was so angry that she had just sent him to his room and said she'd deal with him in the morning.

Deciding that he wasn't going to wait around for his father to get home and beat the shit out of him, Merle had gone out his window, climbing down the knotted length of rope he kept hidden in the back of his closet, smirking to himself that he was just following one of his daddy's rules: _always bring rope._

They were on the porch, talking, and Merle crouched in the bushes, waiting for the lawman to leave so he could make a break for it, but instead his mother invited the sheriff to walk with her. After a moment's hesitation he'd removed his Stetson and nodded, following her, leaving the dark hat with its shiny inlaid seven pointed star badge hanging on the porch newel post.

Confused, Merle lingered when he could've been making his escape. Leaving his back pack in the bushes, he silently followed them to the paddock by the barn, crouching in the shadows. They talked about the horses, the weather and finally what Merle had done. His mother said she was worried what his father would do if he found out, giving Merle hope that maybe she wouldn't rat him out.

Grimes looked concerned, asked her if he could help; if she was happy but then she started crying and turned to leave. The lawman had taken hold of her upper arms. Merle started to stand, afraid the Sheriff was going to hurt her, but instead they _kissed_.

They'd gone into the hay barn then, his mother taking Grimes' hand in hers and leading him through the big double doors. Merle had stood outside and listened, knowing what they were doing.

Merle knew that if his father ever found out the truth about Daryl's parentage he wouldn't just hurt his momma; he'd kill her. Merle knew this as sure as the day he'd been born and so from the age of twelve he'd kept his mother and Travis Grimes' secret. Even when she'd announced she was pregnant, even when Daryl had been born. Even when the boy's sweet personality differed so much from Tom and Merle's own hard ass short fused ones.

_**1986**_

Merle broke his promise to his mother about the safe deposit box because he was angry at her for abandoning them. Ellie had called him at the Army base and explained that she was leaving and that he'd need to watch out for his brother. She told him that she was sending him two safe deposit box keys, one for him and one for Daryl. She was adamant that his brother not be told about his box until he was of age.

He understood, even if he'd never acknowledged it, why sheriff Grimes had intervened and gotten him into the service instead of jail. It was because the man was in love with his mother. Yet he also seemed devoted to his wife and son, and was a good family man, a pillar of the community. That contradiction, that ambiguity made Merle angry because he couldn't reconcile it in his head. He hated the man for what he knew about him, but he was also forced to be grateful for the reprieve from what he knew would've been a brutal stay in prison.

When she'd said she was leaving Merle wondered if she was finally running off with the sheriff; wondered if he should confront the man who Daryl looked up to as a paragon of virtue. Merle decided to wait and see if the man showed his true colors.

Three days later his mother was dead.

Merle thought then that he'd misunderstood her final call to him. What if when she said she was leaving, instead of running away, she'd meant she was going to end her life? A bottle of wine, a couple of Seconal, maybe she forgot to put her cigarette out before she swallowed the pills, the bed accidentally caught on fire, destroying all the evidence.

It was better to let Daryl think it had been an accident than to think his momma deliberately ran out on him. Better Tom Dixon never suspected that his wife had tried to escape; had loved another man and had that other man's child.

After getting his drunken father into rehab, Merle retrieved Daryl from the Grimes farm, but he'd promised the sheriff that in return for Travis' continued secrecy about why Merle had joined up he would allow the boy to continue to have a relationship with the sheriff's son, something that even Tom Dixon saw the benefits of as an up and coming businessman. Cultivating the "right people" was important to his social standing.

The vindictiveness with which Tom blamed Daryl for not being at home, for not saving Ellie had shocked Merle when he'd come home on leave the next time. The fact that his father hadn't seemed be too concerned about his wife when she'd been alive or that if Daryl had been home he probably would've also died from the smoke or the fire never seemed to occur to the man, or if it did, he didn't seem to care.

Merle learned that Daryl was being verbally abused and beaten, regularly, for minor infractions like coming home from school with a knee torn on his pants because he'd been knocked down by a bigger kid while waiting for the bus or even just for wanting to go visit his mother's grave.

When Merle was home he did his best to protect his little brother, keeping him away from his father, but unless he wanted to risk more time in the stockade, he couldn't afford to be absent without leave. Travis and Sarah talked Tom into letting Daryl spend some holidays with them, the ones when Merle couldn't be there to watch out for him.

On Daryl's tenth birthday Travis had given him his first bow. By the time he was fifteen and had finally grown as tall as Rick he was an expert marksman, both with a rifle and the compound bow that he used to win the state championship. Merle knew that the Grimes were the family that Daryl needed, but it didn't make him any less resentful of them. His father preached the importance of Dixon blood and Merle mimicked him, all the while knowing in his heart that it was the biggest lie.

He'd come close to telling Daryl a few times, who his real father was. When Daryl had stubbornly insisted his mother never lied; the night that Merle had come for him, after their mother's funeral, home on leave; and when he'd seen Daryl's scars for the first time when he'd come home for his brother's high school graduation...

* * *

_**Senoia High School Gymnasium, June 1995**_

"You'll graduate from the program at the same time." Tom Dixon said, slapping Daryl on the back heartily, making him grimace and flinch back. At 5'10", the wiry Dixon patriarch was fifty years old and still close to the same shape he'd been in as a high school wrestler. He had buzz cut iron-grey hair, cold blue eyes and today he dressed to impress in a navy blue suit, white shirt and red tie, but looked uneasy in the more formal clothing, as if he couldn't wait to change back into his cowboy boots and jeans; even his SPS uniform would be more comfortable to him.

Merle frowned from his place next to his father. After 10 years in the Army the elder Dixon brother would be discharged in September.

The brothers were both going to enter the trade school plumber program starting in the fall so that they would be trained and able to join the SPS the following spring. Merle had been a bit surprised that Daryl had given up his ambitions of going to veterinary school, but when he asked about it, the kid had brushed him off, saying that he hadn't gotten in—that his grades weren't good enough. His listing in the program as graduating with academic honors had shown that as a lie and Merle wondered what else Daryl wasn't telling him.

Tom, Merle and Daryl, still dressed in his cap and gown, hung at the edge of the group of graduates and families happily hugging and posing for pictures. They were joined by Rick and his parents and then Andrea came and dragged her classmates away to have their picture taken with her and then the other graduating members of the archery team grabbed Daryl for more photos.

"Don't take all night, Daryl!" Tom yelled after him. "Give 'em an inch they'll take a mile." he snarked to the Grimes who both frowned in concern. "Out drinkin' and screwin' around, actin' like that piece of paper means diddly shit."

"Our sons did themselves proud, Tom." Travis said evenly. "Both of them are graduating with honors in academics and athletics."

"Learn a_ trade_, that's what matters." Tom said, looking over at Merle, "That's right, ain't it Merle?"

"Yes sir." Merle responded blandly, nodding, knowing his trade was going to be spending at least half of the rest of his life snaking other people's shit out of toilets.

"They're good boys, Tom." Sarah said with a kind smile as she looked over at Rick and Daryl talking with their friends. "Make sure you stop by the open house at our place tonight, remember?"

Tom grunted noncommittally, but Merle gave her a grateful smile. He knew the party was just as much for Daryl as for Rick. Sarah looked slightly puzzled, but smiled back.

That night when Tom had caught Daryl sneaking out to attend the graduation party, he hadn't argued with him, he'd just backhanded him, knocking him down. Daryl had shaken it off and gotten back up, ready to do battle, but Merle had stepped in.

"You still can't get this boy to mind?" Merle asked his father, filling his tone with dripping disdain as he watched the man pound his fist into Daryl's belly, doubling him over. Daryl slowly stood straight again, spitting blood, his face a mask of impassivity.

"What? You think you can do any better?" Tom challenged with a snort. His eyes flicked to Merle's and his gaze narrowed. "I could always take down _your _pussy ass." Merle had a reputation as a dirty street brawler; had spent sixteen months in the stockade for hitting a superior officer. He'd learned at the hand of the master now standing before him.

"He ain't broken yet." Merle said, looking over at Daryl and shaking his head.

"You show him what a loyal son looks like then, Merle. Prove your loyalty and I'll do right by you." Tom said. "Show the little fucker how a Dixon dishes it out an' you can go out an' enjoy yourself."

Without warning Merle barreled into Daryl, knocking his legs out from under him and riding him to the ground.

Daryl reached up and got his hands around Merle's throat.

"You really think this asshole's _ever _gonna let either one of us go anywhere?" Daryl said, furious. Merle pressed his forearm to the boy's throat, cutting off his oxygen supply and then he leaned in close.

"Just follow my lead little brother, we're getting' outa this, right now. At five you go down and _stay down_." Merle whispered, hauling Daryl to his feet and the two circled each other like gladiators, trading increasingly savage blows, Tom cheering them on.

Daryl held his own but Merle was stronger, older, heavier and meaner. Merle's fifth punch was a haymaker, his back to his father so he was able to pull it somewhat, but it still snapped Daryl's head back and knocked him to the ground.

_ C'mon baby bro, stay down..._ Merle begged silently, swearing when the kid struggled to get back up, but then sighed in relief when Daryl gave in and slumped back down.

"Get him cleaned up and tucked in before you go get your drink on." Tom Dixon snorted with disgust. "Don't want him bleeding on the new carpet," and with that he went back in the house.

"C'mon Derle." Merle said leaning down to help his brother up, but Daryl spit blood, refused the hand and then tried struggling to his feet on his own. When instead of making it to fully upright he wobbled and almost went back down, Merle put his hand on Daryl's back to steady him. Through the t-shirt fabric Merle could feel the irregular texture of Daryl's skin over his shoulder-blade and puzzled, he pulled up on the shirt to expose his brother's back, revealing the striped lines of the still red scars.

_"What the fuck."_ Merle bit out, grabbing Daryl's upper arm to hold him still and then used his other hand to pull the shirt higher so he could see the extent of the damage.

_"Stop!"_ Daryl protested, trying to pull away.

"I—I didn't know he was—" Merle sputtered, shocked at the evidence of the escalation of his father's abuse. Why had Daryl kept this hidden from him? These weren't just bruises, these were _scars_—evidence of a level of violence Merle hadn't suspected.

"Yeah, he did; he did the same to you—that's why you left first. Why you left me here alone with him." Daryl said, trying to twist out of Merle's grasp but Merle refused to release him.

"I had to, man—I would a killed him otherwise...but Derle—he beat me, sure, but he never did_ this_ to me—what did he use on you? Your back was ripped to shreds!" Merle was sick to his stomach. The lacerations looked like they'd been caused by a whip or cat-o-nine tails, some instrument of torture.

"Don't wanna talk about it. Over and done." Daryl said, shrugging. "He punished his son for disobeying him. Father's been doin' that since the Garden of Eden."

"Damn it Derle! It ain't _right!_" Merle said with quiet force. He was angry, but keeping his voice low to try not to draw his father's attention.

"You just spent the last ten minutes beatin' the shit outa me; don't really feel the need to listen to anythin' you got to say." Daryl's voice was cold. He wiped the blood off of his mouth, tucked his shirt back in and then turned his back on his brother, striding across the yard in the direction of the Grimes' farm.

"Where you goin'?" Merle asked, knowing very well where he was headed.

"Back where I belong." Daryl called back, more right than he knew.

"You can't –you heard him! I'm supposed to get you inside!" Merle knew he needed to control the kid or there would be hell to pay.

"You think we gotta do everything he says just coz we're _blood_ –but I don't care! I'm not gonna be like him." Daryl said, disgusted with his brother's suck up attitude, "I may be the one walkin' away, but you're the one's leavin' me alone... _again_." Daryl said defiantly as he broke into a jog and then a run, escaping into the night.

_"Shit."_ Merle muttered, wishing he could call his brother back to tell him the man who'd been abusing him most of his life wasn't his father; that he didn't have to be like him...that he _could_ be a better man than Tom Dixon...that he already was...

* * *

_**Present Day, Grimes Farm**_

"_Merle?_ You with us?" Travis Grimes asked, apparently repeating himself.

Merle blinked and shook his head. Did this man even know that Daryl was his? Had his mother ever told him her secret?

"Sorry, sheriff, what was you sayin'?" Merle apologized.

"I asked you if Daryl was here at the farm—wondered if that's why you were here." Travis said.

"We had some trouble. Daryl's new lady friend has some complicated issues with a nasty character out to get her, so we're circlin' the wagons a bit." Merle explained as best he could. "Lori can fill you in."

"Daryl's _lady friend_?" Sarah Grimes asked with happy surprise. Merle nodded.

"Little bit of a thing, but she's feisty as all get out." Merle said admiringly. She'd stood up to him which earned her points in his book, even though his brother's involvement with her had plunged them all into dealing with her "complications."

"Well now, if Daryl has himself a woman, I guess it _is_ good we cut our trip short." Travis said wryly. If there was one thing he knew about Daryl it was how good he was at collecting and caring for strays. If he'd been attracted to this woman it was inevitably at least in part because she needed his help.

"I told you something was going on the last time we talked to Rick." Sarah said to her husband.

"That you did…guess we'll head up to the house." Travis said, "Thanks for helping out, son," he added, tugging at the brim of his Stetson in salute and then offering Merle his hand.

Merle looked down at the proffered hand, frowned, blinked at the term of address and then raised his eyes to squint at the man for whom he'd harbored such ambivalence for so many years. Swallowing the bitter urge to spit out, _I'm__ not your son_; he just took the man's hand firmly in his and shook it.

* * *

**Daryl**

_**1988, Greene Farms Veterinary Clinic**_

"I'm sorry, son, she was just too hurt—too broken up inside to make it—we did all we could." Hershel said gently, putting his hand on ten-year old Daryl Dixon's shoulder. A small form was lying on the examination table covered with a towel. One small black foot and the end of a tail weren't quite covered by the pink terry cloth.

Daryl wiped at his eyes, angry at himself for acting like a pussy blubbering over some stray cat he'd found half dead on the side of the road. He'd thought if he could just get it to the vet it would be ok; he had faith in Doc Greene, had seen him pull off miracles with sick and injured critters before. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a wadded up five dollar bill and an assortment of coins, along with the usual detritus that small boys carried with them all the time. Twine, gum wrappers, rubber bands, and a hunk of green Jasper he'd found along the roadside right before he'd come upon the hurt cat. It was the same color as the animal's eyes had been, grape green.

The money was what he'd gotten paid for doing chores for Mrs. Grimes this week. Both he and Rick got the same amount so most people would've called it an allowance, but he knew his father would kick his ass for taking money from the Grimes, so he always made sure he did twice as much around the place as Rick did so he felt like he earned it.

Hershel looked at Daryl smoothing out the crumpled bill and almost told him to put it away, but he knew that would feel like an insult to the proud little boy. More than once he'd heard the boy fiercely repeat what he'd heard at home_, "Dixons pay their own way."_

Daryl placed the bill on the table and raised his reddened eyes to the vet.

"Thank you, sir. I'm sure you did your best." Daryl said quietly and then looked behind him. "I'd like to bury her at the farm, if that's ok." He asked Travis Grimes, who stood leaning on the door frame of the examination room, his hat in his hands.

"That'd be fine, Daryl." Travis said. When Daryl had come barreling into the farm-yard with the injured cat in his arms, Travis had known it was beyond help, but he'd still left Rick and Sarah to finish up feeding the horses and had driven the boy all the way to Doc Greene's Clinic and waited with him while they'd worked on the creature.

As he watched the boy standing there he was struck again by how much the shape of his face and his expressions were the same as Ellie's. That sharp chin that always made them both look so stubborn in an argument; that determined scowl when anyone challenged their version of reality. Even the way that muscle just below their right eye twitched in irritation or embarrassment when provoked. His hair was a sandy reddish blonde in the summer, darkening to more russet in the winter, just like Ellie as well. He didn't honestly see much of Tom in him, except his eyes. All of the Dixon men had blue eyes, from Tom's icy and Merle's dark and stormy to Daryl's sky.

He had Ellie's heart though, kind and caring. Tom hadn't been able to beat that out of him so far.

"I'll get the box you brought her in-give me a minute." Hershel said, and left through the inner door that led to the kennels.

"Thanks, Doc." Travis called after him. Daryl inched closer to the table and reached out his hand to grasp the little cat foot sticking out from the cover, rubbing his thumb over the soft fur.

"I _hate_ death." Daryl said quietly.

"Don't." Travis said, moving closer, standing directly behind Daryl and gently putting his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Why not? It's not _fair_." He said angrily, his shoulders stiffening.

"Fairest thing there is…happens to everything." Travis replied, giving Daryl's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Daryl thought about it and then nodded, seeing the truth of it.

"Like my mom."

"People are gonna die. Your Mom. I'm gonna die. There's no way you can ever be ready for it." Travis told him. Daryl quickly turned and threw his arms around Travis's waist and hugged him hard.

"I don't want you to die!" Daryl cried.

"Well, I'm not planning on it for a long time, Daryl!" Travis chuckled at the boy's vehemence and put his hands on Daryl's back and head to comfort him. "But if it happens, I'm glad you'll still be here to help Sarah and Rick get along. I'm countin' on you for that."

"Yes sir." Daryl said, his voice tight with emotion.

"Thank you, son." Travis said, patting his back before releasing him. Hershel returned with the cardboard box and carefully lifted the limp body of the cat, placed it inside and closed the top by intertwining the flaps over top of one another.

"Daryl, before you go I have a proposition for you." Hershel told him with a speculative look, resting his hands atop the box. "

"A proposition?" Daryl asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It'd mean taking on some extra chores; are you up for that?" Hershel asked, winking at Travis.

"Yes sir. I think so." Daryl said, drawing himself up to stand as tall as he could. He was conscious of how the two adults present towered over him.

"Every now and again I get too many animals in recovery that need some extra looking after. Some of them are strays or rescues. I don't turn anyone away, but I need the cage space here for the paying customers. What I'd like to do is have a place to send the other ones with a caretaker who I trust to look after them until they're ready to find new homes. Now I talked to Travis about it and he said that he thinks you might be my man."

"I—I couldn't take them home with me…" Daryl said reluctantly, knowing his father would never allow it. He had a strict no pets rule. Any animals that lived on the Dixon place had to earn their keep.

"They'd be at my place, Daryl. I think between you and Rick we could handle it." Travis assured him. Daryl broke into a big grin, but then he sobered.

"I'm only ten." He said, as if admitting to some great sin. He knew most people thought him even younger because of his small size, underestimating his strength and determination.

"How many other ten-year olds would've stopped and tried to help this little cat today, Daryl?" Hershel asked, his eyes kind and smiling. "That's the kind of man I want looking after my animals."

The grin stole across Daryl's face again at being called a man, especially by someone he respected as much as Dr. Greene. He held out his small hand and Hershel took it and shook it.

"Thank you." Daryl said, looking the vet right in the eye.

"You're welcome." Hershel replied with a small smile.

"All right then—let's head out." Travis said, giving Daryl a light swat on the back with his hat. "We can iron out the details later. Right now it looks like we have a cat funeral to get to."

While the two adults shook hands and said their goodbyes Daryl nodded and carefully lifted the cardboard box and hugged it to his chest, ready to do one last thing for the little cat.

* * *

_**2013, the day Daryl Dixon met Carol Peletier **_

_"You tell that prick Martinez I'm a gonna kick his chimichanga smellin' ass all the way back to the border that asshole comes near me or my truck again!"_

Daryl winced as he heard Merle's drunk or drugged out bellow coming from the holding cells in the back of the King County Sheriff's office.

_"Asshole."_ Rick muttered.

_" Douche bag."_ Shane added his opinion.

"Hey, choose your words more carefully." Daryl growled at the Deputy. Shane squinted and looked up and to the side as if contemplating the request, but then frowned back at Daryl and shook his head.

"Oh no I did—douche bag's what I meant." Shane said amiably.

"He put Caesar Martinez in the hospital, Daryl." Rick told his friend, hoping to impress upon him the seriousness of the charges.

"What? _Shit_—he didn't tell me that!" Daryl said with disgust. All that his father had said was that Merle had been on a bender and needed to be bailed out of jail. It was a task that had fallen to Daryl quite often over the last eighteen or so years. Once Merle had left the service and they'd both become plumbers they were answerable to their father for their living and their home. They were under his thumb. Daryl found this barely tolerable, but knew he deserved it for failing his kin. He had his few close relationships outside of the family to help keep his head above water, so he survived in kind of a limbo, neither moving forward in his life nor sliding back.

Merle, on the other hand, really only had Daryl. He alienated or fought with pretty much anyone he came into contact and he was constantly back sliding into drink or drugs which only isolated him more. His 'friends' were dealers and bookies, his 'dates' paid for one way or another.

"Broke Martinez's jaw—had to get it wired shut. Only thing that saved Caesar was he pulled out a ball bat he keeps on hand at the garage for just such occasions." Shane explained. "Broke Merle's wrist, but he was so coked out he didn't even feel it at first..."

"Merle still flyin'?" Daryl asked, knowing that would make getting him home _ever_ so much more fun…god damn idiot asshole.

"High as a kite when we brought him in to the hospital to get his hand x-rayed." Rick confirmed.

"Suppose they drew blood then…" Daryl sighed, knowing that would affect Merle's assault case, which was what he was being charged with.

"Yeah—he was rantin' about wanting oxy if his wrist was really broken, but they wouldn't give him any when the drug tests came back." Shane sneered.

"Need help getting' him home?" Rick asked. It'd taken both he and Shane to subdue Merle at the scene.

"Should be ok if he recognizes me." Daryl said with a shrug. "Can I go back now?"

"You pay the bail?" Shane asked and Daryl handed him the bail bond paperwork which Shane rifled through quickly and started to hand back, but Daryl's phone rang then and he held up his hand to Shane while he answered it.

"I'm at the county lock up." Daryl said and then got a frustrated expression on his face, "That's what I'm trying to—" his face flushed and his look turned tight with controlled anger. "That's _not _what I'm doing. I'll have him home within the hour. Yes sir, to the main house." And then he stabbed at the off circle, looking like he wanted to throw the cell across the room.

"Everything ok?" Rick asked, knowing that had been the Dixon patriarch on the line.

"Just _peachy_." Daryl said with tight sarcasm. "Just help me get my douche bag brother so I can get him the fuck home." He grabbed the papers out of Shane's hand and walked quickly towards the cells.

* * *

_**Home office of Tom Dixon, 40 minutes later**_

"I got called out of a council meeting to deal with this shit!" Tom Dixon raged, pacing back and forth in front of Daryl and Merle. "N' you're down at the sheriff's office chattin' up your pal Deputy Grimes!" he railed at Daryl, who stood stoically next to a slightly swaying Merle, struggling to stay upright.

"Fucking lawyer leeches bleed me every time…" Tom muttered stopping in front of Merle. "You got anything to say for yourself, _boy_?" The fact that Merle was 48 years old making no difference to his father.

"It'as that cocksucker beaner Martinez—he fucked up my truck!" Merle said self-righteously, slurring his words slightly, his eyes still glazed.

"And so you went after him high as a kite in broad daylight? You an _idjit_, son?" Tom snorted, shaking his head. "Other ways a takin' care of them people, you _know_ that." He said more gently, grabbing the back of Merle's neck with his left hand and squeezing hard, making his son grimace against the hold.

"Yes sir." Merle choked out and Tom released him, making Merle stumble back. When Daryl turned to help him Tom plowed his fist into Daryl's left eye with enough force to send him sprawling to the floor.

_"You were supposed to keep him off that shit!" _Tom raged at Daryl, coming over him and grabbing hold of his uniform shirt, lifting him up to land more blows on his face. When Merle realized what was happening he rushed his father and knocked him away from Daryl who laid bleeding and moaning on the floor, his eye already swelling.

_ "Stop it! It ain't his fault!_" Merle yelled, struggling with Tom, holding him back from Daryl. The office door slammed open and Tom's wife, Karen came into the room, taking in the scene, closing the door behind her. She looked cool and pristine in her white jeans, cowboy boots and red leather jacket. Her big diamond ring sparked fire in the mid day sun coming through the office windows.

"What the _hell _is going on in here?" Karen said, her voice a fierce haughty stage whisper. "I just came home to three lawyers waiting in the living room to meet with y'all and you're having a knock down drag out in the next room!"

Merle released and stepped away from Tom who then calmly pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and started wiping Daryl's blood off of his fists.

"Get his lazy ass outa here. I can't stand to look at him." Tom said disdainfully. Merle started towards his brother but was pulled up short, "Not you." he said to Merle. "You an' I need to meet with the bloodsuckers." Tom pointed at Karen and indicated she should go to Daryl instead.

Karen made a put upon face, but went and knelt next to Daryl, facing away from Tom and Merle, putting her hand on Daryl's wrist, but he flinched back, protecting his face with his arm and her eyes filled with tears.

"It's alright Daryl, it's me, Karen." She whispered soothingly, dropping her ice maiden act. "We need to go now." She added a bit more urgently.

Daryl slowly lowered his arm and looked up at her through his slitted eyes, embarrassed to be seen like this.

"Take him out the back way." Tom said, adjusting his necktie which had become askew in his vicious unwarranted attack on Daryl. "Let's go, Merle." He ordered, tossed down his now bloody handkerchief and then swept out of the room.

Merle looked over at Daryl, sickened by the beating that his baby brother had taken for his big brother's sins.

_"I—I'm sorry, Derle—I—"_ Merle stammered.

_"Merle!"_ Tom said impatiently from the hallway. With a last haunted look, Merle turned and followed.

"Can you stand?" Karen asked Daryl softly, "We really should go before he comes back."

Daryl tried to nod his assent, but that made his head explode in white-hot agony and he groaned and gritted his teeth, afraid he was going to puke all over her pretty white boots.

"Here, let me help you." Karen said, putting her hands under his elbow. She helped him sit up and the bloody trail of tears from his left eye changed its path from down over his temple and into his ear to beside his nose into his mouth. She handed him the discarded handkerchief.

_ "Thanmks..."_ he mumbled, dizzy, trying to regain his equilibrium, but his ears were ringing.

"I think I should get you to a hospital," she whispered, horrified as she surveyed the damage to the left side of Daryl's face. There was a cut over his cheekbone and his eye was already swollen shut.

"_No_—jus' get me _home_—got stuff there." Daryl insisted. He kept flexible ice packs in the freezer and styptic and butterfly closure bandages in the medicine cabinet. He could always call Hershel if it was really bad this time.

"Why do you stay with him?" Karen muttered.

"Why do you?" Daryl shot back, grunting as she helped him stand.

"I guess we're all just caught in our own private traps." Karen said, "Sometimes we deliberately step into those traps. Sometimes we're born into them."

"Sounds about right." Daryl sighed. Then he stopped and looked at her, doing his best to focus on her eyes with his one good one.

"What?" she asked, tilting her head to the side and frowning at the intensity of his gaze.

"He ever hits you I'll kill him." Daryl promised, thinking of the woman he'd met this morning. Of the bruises and bandages Carol wore on her face and body as souvenirs of her trap, the one out of which she was still trying to claw her way.

"He ever hits me, _I'll_ cut off his dick and my _daddy_ will kill him." She promised with a truly frightening smile, making Daryl huff out a laugh, which hurt. "Now let's get you out of here."

Having trouble keeping his balance, Daryl leaned more heavily on her than he wanted to, but he was grateful for the help.

"Thank you, Karen." Daryl said quietly, surprised by her compassion.

"A father shouldn't hurt his son like he does you." Karen said. "It's not right."

"He's got his reasons to do what he does." Daryl said, wondering what it would be like to be as sure of his father's love as Karen was of hers. To not feel crushing guilt every time he looked at you.

"I'm sorry this happened to you, Daryl." Karen told him, easing him through the doorway, knowing he was, hopefully only temporarily, blind on one side.

"Don't be sorry, doesn't do anyone any good." Daryl said flatly.

* * *

_**Present Day**_

"I'm sorry, Daryl, but this is_ good_ news isn't it?" Carol asked from her perch halfway up the stairs to the outside as she watched him pace the small underground shelter. He was like a caged wolf, restless, needing to run, to hunt and she was longing to escape the confines of the underground room as well.

"Good news?" Daryl asked, stopping at the foot of the stairs and squinting up at her.

"That you and Rick are brothers." Carol said carefully. She knew he was overwhelmed by the news she'd just read to him about his mother and Travis Grimes, and the idea that Ellie might have been murdered, but the situation presented other realities for him.

"Didn't need no letter to tell me that." Daryl scoffed. He'd thought of Rick that way for most of his life...but the idea that his mother had been with _Travis_—and that then they'd lied to everyone—betrayed their spouses—lied to _him—left him to grow up with that sadistic son of a bitch-thinking he was his father!_ Daryl thought back on all the beatings he had taken, believing they were his due. How he'd been cheated out of his chosen life by his feelings of guilt as much as by the man he'd believed was his father.

He owed Tom Dixon nothing. He'd already been disowned and fired by him. He really was free of the man.

Then his mind drew him back to Merle. What had been his part on all of this? How much had he known? Why hadn't he told him about the safe deposit box when he was supposed to?

How much did Travis and Sarah know? Had Sheriff Grimes ever confessed his tryst with Ellie Dixon to his wife? Ellie never told Travis he was Daryl's father, but had he ever suspected it?

Daryl had a million questions and no way to get any answers as long as they were stuck down here locked away.

"The wheels in your head are turning so loudly I can hear them all the way up here." Carol called down. Daryl stopped again at the foot of the stairs and looked up at her. How amazing was she? To just calmly accept all of this—more complication—as if she didn't already have enough shit going on in her life. How had he gotten lucky enough to find her?

"You gonna come down here n' help me shut them down?" Daryl said leadingly, "Or do I gotta come up and get you?" he asked as he bounded up the stairs.

_ "Daryl!"_ Carol laughed as he reached her, bracing his hands on the steps on either side of her, leaning over to nuzzle her neck. "We will figure this out." she told him, putting her hands on his biceps. Daryl lifted his head and met her calm clear gaze.

"_We..._I like the sound of that." Daryl told her, leaning down to brush his lips against hers.

A sharp knocking on the round door at the top of the stairs made them both jump a little. It was the signal that they had visitors.

"Daryl?" Hershel's voice came through loud and clear. "Brought someone to see you."

"And how's Nellie doing today?" Daryl asked. It was their code for whether or not the person at the door was being coerced or held at gun point.

"Nervous as ever." Hershel replied, indicating he wasn't under duress.

Daryl stood, taking Carol's hand and pulling her along to the top of the staircase. He threw the interior bolt and locks, opening the heavy metal hatch, expecting Michonne or Maggie, but instead a tall, broad-shouldered, blue-eyed man filled the doorway.

"Surprise!" Travis Grimes said with a big warm smile for Daryl, pulling him into a hug, "How are you, son?"

* * *

**AN:** _**Bits and pieces of show dialogue in there for you again from all four seasons of TWD where they seemed to me to fit the situation. **_

**My head canon casting: Travis Grimes = an older Robert Taylor, the actor who plays Sheriff Walt Longmire on **_**Longmire**_**; but I can't come up with someone for Tom Dixon...any suggestions? **

**I wanted to show that Merle is a more complicated person than others understand him to be; what he found out about his mother as a child set up an internal conflict within him that he carries to the present day. He has done his best to protect Daryl, but sometimes that meant hurting him to keep Tom from doing worse. Also remember that Ellie abandoned **_**both**_** her sons and Merle has never felt good enough. He failed to protect Daryl from the worst of Tom's abuse—the scars he sees on his brother's back cut him deep as well. His guilt, shame and feelings of worthlessness have manifested itself in his addictions, violence and bullying of others. Most bullies act that way because they are afraid of their own inadequacies.**

**Thanks for reading! DD1**


	19. Chapter 19: The Facts of Life

_**Travis and Sarah Grimes find out about Daryl's new situation and get more than they bargained for when they go to confront him about his relationship with Carol.**_

_**Thank you all faithful readers, Favorites, Followers and beloved Reviewers! Inspiration hit so here you go with another chapter sooner than I expected.**_

* * *

_**The Facts of Life**_

_You take the good, you take the bad,  
you take them both and there you have  
the facts of life, the facts of life.  
__  
__When the world never seems  
to be livin' up to your dreams  
and suddenly you're finding out  
the facts of life are all about you... _

_You got the future in the palm of your hands  
all you gotta do to get you through is understand  
you think you rather do without,  
you'll have to know the truth about  
the facts of life are all about you…  
_- words and music by Alan Thicke, Gloria Loring and Al Burton

_**Grimes Farm**_

"So tell me about her, Daryl's girl." Sarah asked as Lori poured coffee for both of her in-laws. Travis sat silently next to her at the kitchen table, also waiting keenly for Lori's response. The little bit Merle had just told them had been intriguing but worrisome.

"Her name's Carol—and well, she's hardly a _girl._"Lori said, not meaning it unkindly, but the fact that Carol was the same age as Daryl and with her silvered hair looked older had been a bit of a surprise when she'd met her the first time.

"Well, that's a relief!" Sarah laughed with a wink, pouring creamer into her mug. "I was afraid some inappropriately young thing had latched her hooks into him." She also stirred in two heaping spoons of sugar, making her husband grimace. Sarah, a Yankee originally from Pennsylvania, was ten years younger than Travis and never tired of tweaking him about it. She had retired early from her job as a nurse so they could travel after she had finally convinced him to stop sherriffing five years ago.

"They're the same age—similar backgrounds..." she said with a glance at Travis, knowing he'd understand what she meant, "And he's pretty much in love with her."

"Daryl? In _love_?" Sarah said, nonplussed. She'd watched over Daryl since he'd first come into their home as a sweet eight year old; wished they could've had him full-time after Ellie died. She'd seen him look on with envy as Rick found love with Lori and started a family and worried that he'd never find someone he could trust enough to care for that much.

"I know—it surprised us all. He's always been so...I don't know...careful to keep any women he's been..." Lori struggled for the right word to use to describe his few previous relationships, "..._involved_ _with_...separate from the rest of his life."

"Picking up a woman in a bar doesn't imply much involvement beyond making sure when you're done you don't take anything with you that would require a round of penicillin or leave anything behind that will be askin' for child support. I had that talk with both of those boys a long time ago." Travis growled. Both women glared at him, and Sarah swatted his arm, but he just shrugged. "Facts of life." Travis said flatly, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip of his black unadulterated brew.

"Merle said she was _complicated_." Sarah said, turning back to Lori.

"She's very nice, don't get me wrong, I like her, but she's been through a lot and it's caused Daryl—well, _all _of us some problems." Lori said.

"But how did they meet?" Sarah asked at the same time Travis said, "What kind of problems?" making Lori smile.

"He took a plumbing call at her apartment and then they ran into each other at the courthouse a couple of days later." Lori explained.

"Courthouse? What was Daryl—oh, let me guess—_Merle._" Travis said with a tight-lipped smile; the cast on the elder Dixon brother's arm making more sense now. Lori nodded.

"But what was _Carol_ doing there?" Sarah asked, looking concerned.

"Her husband had assaulted her; broke her wrist, her nose." Lori said, frowning sympathetically.

Travis sighed; he knew the woman must be in some sort of trouble. Leave it to Daryl to find the wounded dove caught in the briar patch.

"So she's still married?" Sarah raised her eyebrows and set down her mug.

"She'd filed for divorce-came to Senoia to get away from him and start over." Lori told them, but then took a big breath. "But here's where it gets more complicated. The night that they went on their first date someone torched her apartment—we think it was her husband, but then Daryl was arrested for—"

"Let me guess—Daryl went after the husband." Travis said with a sigh of resignation.

"No—he was arrested for the _arson..."_ Lori said.

"What? That doesn't make any sense!" Sarah said, looking shocked.

"The husband claimed it was a set up to incriminate him—he said never laid a hand on Carol—that she was just trying to make him look bad so she could take him to the cleaners in the divorce...that she and Daryl conspired to do it... that they were involved before she came here..."

"Hold on! just how long _has_ this been going on?" Sarah asked. "We've only been gone a month and he never said a word about meeting someone when we heard from him just last week!" They liked to stay in touch with Rick, Daryl and the rest of the family by e-mail, Skype and texts when they were out and about on their various trips. Daryl wasn't always the most regular correspondent, but when something important happened, he usually let them know.

"They only met a little over a week ago..." Lori said and both of the other Grimes frowned, exchanging a worried look.

"And he already says he's in _love_? This Carol woman works awfully fast..." Sarah said, sounding concerned.

"_God damn it..."_ Travis said in quiet anger. "What the hell is that boy thinking? Getting mixed up with some woman who's probably a con artist looking to get rid of her husband and lay the blame on him." He wondered if Rick had run a background check on the woman—you could never be too careful. Maybe he'd have to give that new PI over in Woodbury a call. What was his name? Reed? Rhee?

"Or she targeted one of the heirs to SPS, a multi-million dollar business for her scam. It sounds a little too convenient to me." Sarah agreed, her mouth wrinkling as if she'd just tasted something bitter.

"He's not exactly heir to anything anymore. Tom disowned him after he was arrested."Lori explained. "Fired him, kicked him out of the house and everything when he found out about it."

"And yet Merle is on a first name basis with every probation officer in the county." Sarah huffed, hating the double standard Tom applied to Daryl and Merle.

"Does _she _know he's lost everything?" Travis asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes—and she was happy for him." Lori said, remembering the look of pure joy on Daryl's face when Carol had told him that as they stood on this very kitchen not long ago.

_"Happy?"_ Sarah exclaimed in surprise.

"That he's not answerable to Tom any more, that he can do whatever he wants with his life. She really _gets_ him, mom." Lori explained. "And he adores her. I've never seen him like this."

"She's a shrewd one," Travis said cynically, "Daryl's always had a caretaker personality—she pops into his life with a bruise or two and a sad tale and he's caught." He slumped back in his chair and took a big gulp of the scalding coffee, wondering if he'd have to intervene with Daryl and make him face some home truths.

"It's not like that—she really _is _in trouble—her daughter was murdered, she was horribly abused by her husband and her place was torched, that's all true." Lori protested. "Rick and Shane took the assault call against the husband and Andrea Harrison signed on as her lawyer. This is all very real, dad."

"Her daughter? Oh how horrible!" Sarah said, putting her hand on Lori's arm.

"About six months ago. That was why she finally left her husband; they think he may have had something to do with her little girl's death." Lori said. "…this leads to the worst of it."

Lori paled and looked agitated. She ran her hand back through her hair and sighed, knowing they would be even more upset by what she had to tell them now.

"There's more?" Sarah asked, her brows knitting together in concern.

"Her husband just turned up _dead_—murdered by the looks of it. They found the body—well, _part_ of the body— Lori began but Travis sat up, ramrod straight and interrupted her, anger darkening his handsome features.

"So Daryl is up on arson _and_ murder charges now? Holy Christ, this woman is _apocalyptic_!" Travis exclaimed, slamming his open hand down on the table, rattling the china.

"Lord's name, Travis." Sarah chided, putting her hand on his forearm.

"Must be talkin' about Mrs. Peletier," Rick said as he strode into the room. Travis and Sarah stood to greet him, and he met them at the table, hugging each as they said their hellos, and then grabbed a mug and filled it. He sat down next to Lori and gave her a quick kiss.

"Carl's down at the barn with Falcon—we just put him and the mare in the paddock. Glenn is with him." He told her, knowing she'd worry, and she nodded.

"Nice looking colt. Carl sent us some pictures." Travis said, "Have to go down and take a look when we're done here."

"_Are_ we done here?" Rick asked, looking back and forth between Lori and his parents.

"Lori was just filling us in on Daryl's predicament—is he being charged with murder?" Travis asked with concern.

"No—at least not at this point," Rick told them, which was the truth.

"What's your take on this woman, son?" Sarah asked, noting how Rick's jaw tensed and how he shared a look with Lori who raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"I'll admit I didn't trust her at first. She just seemed to keep dragging him deeper and deeper into her shit with no end in sight." Rick said.

"You said _at first_, Rick, did you change your mind?" Sarah asked.

"We're Daryl's family—it's our job to watch out for him—so I did. I told her that I'd found her a safe house, knowing that would get her away from him, thinking that she'd fight it tooth and nail." Rick said.

"And did she?" Sarah asked, thinking she already knew the answer to her question.

"She said she knew he'd be safer if she left, that we'd all be, so she agreed and didn't tell him she was going." Rick said. "Between that and a few choice words from Shane, plus Daryl point-blank telling me that he loved her and I could go to hell…" he stopped and looked down at his coffee then shook his head.

"Rick?" Sarah pressed.

"Yeah, I think she's the real deal." He looked up at his mother. "But there's a lot more at stake here than we knew. Turns out Carol's husband was involved in some pretty nasty criminal activities—ugly stuff—and both of them are in danger from his bosses. Her husband was probably killed because of it and they're looking for her because of what she might know."

"That's why she's at the safe house?" Travis asked.

"That's why they're _both_ at the safe house." Rick told them.

"That sounds cozy." Ever the romantic, Sarah couldn't help her little smile as she imagined a little love nest of sorts.

"And you're sure you trust her?" Travis asked, ignoring his wife's whimsy.

"Andrea had her PI—Glenn Rhee?" Rick paused and looked over at his father. Travis nodded to show he remembered the young investigator, "He checked her out—she's what she says she is."

"I want to meet her." Travis announced, making everyone at the table frown at him.

"Travis! You heard Rick—they're in a safe house." Sarah said shaking her head at him.

"I made a promise a long time ago to take care of Daryl—like he was my own—and something this major happens to him I gotta know it's right." Travis said quietly. He never liked to invoke Ellie around Sarah, knew it made her sad to think of how Daryl had lost his mother and she a good friend. That he had also lost the first woman he ever loved was not something he'd shared with his wife.

At the time the boys became friends, Travis had been nervous about Ellie and Sarah meeting, but they got on like two peas in a pod, bonding over their love of books, horses and their sons. Though ten years apart in age they had become quite close over that summer before Ellie died and in one of their last conversations, Ellie had teasingly told him that even though he'd had to rob the cradle to do it, she was glad he had found someone to love who was so good for him. He had just started to get used to the idea that he could have her in his life as a friend when she'd been taken from them all in fire and ashes.

Sarah reached out and took his hand in hers and he saw the tears in her eyes as they both thought of Ellie. They both looked over at Rick imploringly.

"Son? It's important." Travis said. Rick narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips and cocked his head at his father, taking a few beats to consider the request.

"I'd have to run it by Jenner—he's leading the task force." Rick said slowly.

"The county prosecutor? Gimme a phone, I'll call him. He wouldn't have that job if it wasn't for _my_ recommendation." Travis grumbled.

* * *

_**Two hours later , Greene Farm**_

"Surprise!" Travis said with a big warm smile for Daryl, pulling him into a hug. "How are you son?"

Looking at Daryl's face over her husband's shoulder Sarah saw Daryl wince and pull away and noticed the petite woman at his side frowning with concern.

"Daryl?" Travis said, retaining his hold on Daryl's upper arm until the younger man met his eyes. He was shocked to see anger there instead of the expected welcome.

"Need to get inside, Travis." Hershel said, looking around uneasily. He had brought the Grimes up to the make shift sawmill in the guise of giving them a walking tour of the farm after they'd come for a visit in their big RV. Hershel and Travis were old friends and so Jenner had allowed a visit as long as they kept it short and literally undercover.

Daryl stepped back so Travis was forced to release him. Carol squeezed Daryl's hand and gave him a questioning look and he nodded and then she gave him a worried look of understanding. This was his newly discovered _father_ appearing as if summoned out of the ether.

"_Now_, people." Hershel said more forcefully and Carol tugged on Daryl's arm until he followed her down the steps. Travis and Sarah looked at each other, wondering what the hell was wrong with Daryl. When they reached the bottom of the stairs Daryl was standing with his back against the far wall still holding a nervous looking Carol's left hand with his right.

"You shaved…" Sarah said—marveling at how much younger Daryl looked without the scruff and coming over to him so she could raise a gentle hand to his cheek. He stood still, not looking at her, but letting her touch him. Looking a bit hurt she lowered her hand and held it out to Carol.

"I'm Sarah Grimes, Rick's mother." She said pleasantly, introducing herself. Her calm politeness roused Daryl from his angry confusion and he raised his eyes to meet Sarah's.

"This is my Carol….I mean—Carol Peletier—" Daryl said, blushing. Both Carol and Sarah smiled at him and shook hands.

"I'm pleased to meet you." Carol said, meeting Sarah's green eyes. "Daryl has spoken very fondly of all the time he spent with your family growing up." she said, pointedly reminding him that despite the recent revelations about his parentage, these people had loved and cared for him most of his life.

"That's very kind of you to say." Sarah said, "We've loved having him in our lives. He's been like a second son to us."

Daryl snorted and Carol flashed him a look of warning. Releasing both Sarah and Daryl's hands, Carol made her way across the room to Travis, who was still standing at the bottom of the stairs watching the rest of them, trying to figure out what was wrong with Daryl. She held out her hand to him as well, but he didn't take it.

"Mr. Grimes." Carol said, continuing to hold her hand outstretched.

"Travis!" Sarah admonished him for his impoliteness and he relented, clasping Carol's small hand in his much larger one. Carol stared up at him, noting the similarities to Daryl in bone structure and the breadth of his shoulders, but most of all in the assessing eyes the same shade of blue that she hoped to wake up next to every day for the rest of her life.

"Mrs. Peletier." Travis rumbled, shaking her hand up and down several times before releasing it.

"You and Daryl have some important things you need to discuss, Mr. Grimes, so I'm going to go back up and breathe in some fresh air and probably get shoved into Shane and Jimmy's tent by Hershel—care to join me Sarah?"

"Will we also be having a chat?" Sarah asked, looking up at a determinedly stoic Daryl.

"Nothing would please me more." Carol said with a little smile. "I'm sure you have lots of fun stories about Rick and Daryl growing up."

"Oh my dear, you have no idea." Sarah smiled back. "You two behave yourselves." she said with worried look at Daryl. She wasn't sure what was wrong, but she knew that though slow to rouse, both men had equally violent tempers once they got going.

Once they heard the top hatch close again indicating the women were gone Daryl snatched the letter from his mother up off the table and stalked over to his father, shoving it at him.

"Read this." Daryl bit out and retreated back to his place against the wall.

"What? What is it?" Travis held the paper out, unable to make out the small writing until he dug in his pocket for his reading glasses, which he pulled on. Recognizing the handwriting he gave Daryl a startled look.

"Yeah, it's from her. She wrote it three days before she died." Daryl grunted. "I just got it yesterday. You pro'bly want to sit down."

Travis ignored him and started reading leaning against the stair way door frame, but after a minute or two he looked like someone punched him in the gut and he stumbled backwards, sitting down hard on the steps. His mouth fell open and he shook his head slowly back and forth as he finished reading it.

_"I didn't know."_ Travis murmured, staring at the letter. Raising his tear filled eyes to Daryl's, he repeated it, "Daryl, I _didn't_ know."

"Whatever happened to your lil' facts a life speech, Travis? '_You don't take anything with you that would require a round of penicillin or leave anything behind that'll be askin' for child support'_?" Daryl said in a cold voice and then he waved a little sarcastic wave, "Hey dad. Hope you had a good time fucking my mother while your pregnant wife waited at home."

Travis closed his eyes and ripped the glasses off of his face so he could rub his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger and then he wiped his hand down over his face, smearing it in the tears, still clutching the letter.

"Why didn't she _tell _me?" Travis said, his voice trembling in sorrow.

"What would you have done?" Daryl railed, "Left Sarah? Abandoned Rick? This ain't Utah, you couldn't have had both—she made the choice for you. She knew what my da—what _Tom_ would have done he'd ever found out. She did what she had to. Cleaned up after your mistake. Well, now your thirty-five year old mistake's starin' you in the face—whatta you got to say for yourself?"

"I _loved_ her Daryl—you have to know that—you _weren't_ a mistake—you were conceived in _love_." Travis told his son, needing him to understand and believe that truth. That instead of being the product of a drunken brute's assault on his mother after she'd kept him out of her bed for twelve years; he had been the product of the consummation of first love.

"Bullshit. I'm a _bastard _that you made because _you_ couldn't keep a vow to your wife n' keep your _dick _in your pants." Daryl snarled, coming off of the wall angrily and yelling, pointing his finger at Travis.

"And what exactly _is _your relationship with _Mrs._ Peletier?" Travis shot back defensively before he thought the better of it. Daryl shot across the room and stood in front of Travis shivering in rage, his hands clenched in fists.

"Get up." Daryl bit out, his voice deadly.

"I'm not going to fight with you Daryl." Travis said tightly.

_"Get the fuck up!"_ Daryl yelled and then in a quick strong motion Travis kicked his right leg forward and to the left and swept Daryl's knees, knocking his feet out from under him. As he went down Travis caught the front of his shirt and kept his head from hitting the floor, but pinned him there with his bigger body, crouching over him, a knee pressed to Daryl's belly and his forearm to Daryl's throat to hold him still. The younger man struggled briefly but gave up in frustration because despite everything he didn't want to hurt the man who had been more of a father to him than anyone.

"I'm sorry." Travis said wearily. "I'm sorry I brought Carol into it and I'm sorry I hurt you and your mother and probably Sarah and Rick when they find out. I'm sorry I couldn't be a better man and just walk away that night…but I truly did _love_ her, Daryl. And I love _you_. I always said I couldn't be prouder of you—that you were like my own son—a brother to Rick in every way." He sighed, and sat back, releasing Daryl who sat up.

"You never _called_ her on it?" Daryl asked, ignoring for now the declaration of love so freely given. "You go ridin' bareback, woman turns up pregnant, issue's _bound_ to come up." Travis winced at the crude language—they were talking about Ellie after all, but he understood Daryl's need to know.

"At first I did suspect it, but Ellie _always_ denied it, pointed to your birthday, said it wasn't possible. Said she'd felt so guilty she over compensated—that she _let_ Tom…" he made a sad face at what she'd had to do to cover their illicit actions.

"_Could_ I be his?" Daryl wondered, still not sure if that would be better or worse.

"I don't think she would've written this if she wasn't sure—but here, at the end." Travis picked up the letter, pointed to _'2 enclosures' _written at the bottom of the last page and then asked,"Was there something else in the envelope?"

Daryl thought about it and then got up and went back to the table. He picked up the other two envelopes. Travis stood and came over to him and by unspoken consent they both sat at the table. After a few more seconds of contemplation, wondering what other revelations his mother would have for him, Daryl slipped his index finger under the first envelope flap and ripped away. He took a minute or two to flip through the papers and study them, said, _"Huh"_ and then passed them to Travis.

"It's a DNA test." Travis said after looking at the first page.

"It's four RFLP DNA _paternity_ tests." Daryl said, making Travis rifle through the papers. "One for Merle and Tom, me and Tom, you and Rick and me and you. Says Merle is Tom's, but Rick n' I are both yours."

"How did she do this?" Travis wondered. It would've meant getting blood samples from each of them back in '86.

"Look at the name at the bottom." Daryl said with a sigh, "Person who signed off on permission to take the samples from you and Rick when you came in for physicals that year."

_"Oh holy shit."_ Travis whispered. Written in her precise hand was the name _Sarah Grimes, RN._

* * *

**AN****: As Daryl would say, **_**"Huh."**_

_**RN = Registered Nurse**_

_**Developed in the 1980s, RFLP (Restriction Fragment Length Polymorphism) uses blood samples taken from the child, mother, and alleged father. It allowed parentage to be established with 99.99% accuracy or higher. (Source: paternity-answers)**_

_**And just try to get that theme song out of your head if you ever watched "The Facts of Life…" The words fit this chapter so well I had to use it, "the facts of life" really are all about Daryl here!**_


	20. Chapter 20: White Linen

_**While Daryl and Travis hash things out down in the underground shelter, Sarah and Carol have a pointed discussion as they get to know each other upstairs. We begin with a flashback.**_

_**Thank you readers, favorites, followers, and all you special people who take the time to be reviewers!**_

* * *

_**White Linen**_

**_1978, Grimes Farm_**

_Water… Sarah was floating in rushing water._

_Fragrant lotus and tall papyrus plants caught at her legs and arms as she tried lifting them to keep her head above the surface. _

_She heard a baby's cry and opened her eyes. Then she remembered, the king had decreed—all newborn baby boys were to be put to the sword—and so she had woven the basket and sent her son adrift, following it to make sure he was taken up by good people. She'd been caught in the current, battered by the cold river and fainted, waking only when the plants grasped at her._

_A basket made of bulrushes drifted just ahead, spinning lazily. She swam harder trying to catch up to it, but the current had it in its grasp and she fell farther and farther behind, her arms slicing through the cold dark water, kicking as hard as she could. She watched as the basket became caught in a side eddy near a high stone wall and a pair of pale hands reached down and plucked the basket out of the river and lifted it away. _

_ "No—wait—don't! That's my child—please!" Sarah cried, at the last-minute wishing she could take it all back, but whoever had taken him didn't return. Struggling against the current she finally reached the shore, exhausted, unable to do more than raise her head, and saw a beautiful woman lift her son, wrapped in the rough cloth she had woven herself, out of the bulrush ark and smile down at him._

_ "You are my gift from the river, your father, who flows through this land giving life." The woman said, "I am your mother, made fertile by his love. I will raise you alongside my other son and you will be brothers." And she took the pure fine white cloth from her shoulders and swaddled him in it, discarding the homespun in which he had been wrapped._

_ "No!" Sarah said weakly, but the fight against the river's dark pull had proved too much for her and she slipped back under its surface, drowning in her sorrow and loss._

* * *

Sarah awoke, sucking in a terrified breath, threw off the sheet and reached down to her belly. She sighed in relief when she felt the reassuring bump of her baby curled inside her, almost six months big. Her unsettling dream had left her anxious and she needed the comfort of her husband's arms.

The sound of rushing water was still in her ears and confused, she looked to the other side of her bed and saw that Travis wasn't there. Peering at the clock on the nightstand she realized that it was the middle of the night—3:15 a.m.—and that the running water was the shower. She groaned and got up to go to the adjoining bathroom door.

"Travis?" she called, knocking lightly and then pushed open the door. He was in the shower, steam rising from the hot spray, and he had left his uniform scattered around the small room, dropping each garment as he'd shed them. Shaking her head Sarah started picking up after him, grumbling to herself about the messiness of men in general and this one in particular when she noticed a scent to the clothes.

This was nothing new; they often stunk of gunpowder and gun oil if he'd been at the range, or gas, oil and grease if the squad had been in need of quick maintenance or even more disgusting things like vomit, excrement or blood if he'd had a hard apprehension, but this was none of those. This was perfume.

Taking a deep sniff she thought she recognized it, White Linen. As a nurse she had to be careful of what scents she wore while working and this one had been recommended to her as one of the Estee Lauder group of light clean fragrances, resembling freshly laundered sheets with a hint of floral. In the end her pregnancy had made her senses of taste and smell all wonky so she'd decided to forgo any perfumes for the duration. This wasn't _her _perfume.

"Travis?" she called again, a little more loudly, this time coming right up next to the tub and shower curtain. She heard a_ thunk_ as he dropped the soap and swore. Then the curtain opened and he blinked at her, tossed his head back to get the wet hair out of his eyes and then used his hand to push it back when the initial head movement didn't do the job.

"Hey—did I wake you? Sorry." Travis Grimes said in apology, squinting at her. "Had a bad domestic—kind of a standoff—kept me out way past my shift. I'd've called but you were already in bed when it went down so—"

"Domestic?" Sarah interrupted.

"Yeah—woman was terrified of her drunken husband—what he'd do to her and her twelve-year-old kid after the little punk shop lifted." Travis said, noticing she was holding his shirt and frowning. "She kind of lost it—cried her eyes out on my shoulder for almost an hour after the incident was over." he added.

"Incident?"

"Her pre-teen son shoplifted cigarettes from the drugstore—abusive father..." Travis let her fill in the rest.

"Anyone hurt?" Sarah asked, feeling sorry for the boy and his mother. She'd had a friend growing up who had a similar experience, always showing up at school with fresh bruises until a teacher had intervened and gotten her help.

"No—we were lucky." Rick said, not elaborating further. "Gonna finish up here—be in there in a little bit, Ok?" he asked and then ducked his head back inside the plastic curtain and Sarah saw his broad-shouldered silhouette lean down to pick up the soap.

* * *

_**2013, present day, Greene Farm**_

"I put it out of my mind," Sarah told Carol. The two women had been getting to know one another as they sat on the lawn chairs someone had set up inside the two-man tent that the guard detail had been using. Hershel had grumbled at them for leaving the shelter, but Carol had quietly explained that Travis and Rick needed some privacy, so he had allowed it as long as the women stayed out of sight.

"Mrs. Grimes, I'm not quite sure why you're telling me this story—"Carol said, but Sarah gave her a piercing look.

"I have dreams—premonitions—some might call them—about the important things." Sarah said and Carol frowned. "I know, it sounds crazy, but it's true. The night before last I had a dream about Daryl. He was in trouble—I couldn't tell exactly what was wrong—but he was holding a white flower that suddenly burst into flame..." she looked Carol in the eye.

"Sometimes people see things...it happens." Carol acknowledged.

"I understand that your apartment was burned?" Sarah asked and Carol nodded, starting to feel a little uncomfortable. "And does the white flower mean anything to you?"

Carol hesitated. How much did she want to tell this woman who'd known Daryl most of his life? What would he be comfortable with her knowing?

"Please, Mrs. Peletier?" Sarah asked.

"Cherokee Roses...my daughter...Daryl helped me plant one at my daughter's grave the night before last." Carol admitted and Sarah nodded.

"I'm very sorry for your loss." Sarah said sincerely, taking Carol's hand, "You and Daryl have a lot in common. You know he lost the most important person in his life as well."

"His mother, he told me." Carol said, and Sarah gave her hand a squeeze before she released it.

"Ellie was very special to me. People often mistook us for sisters even though she was a decade older. Same coloring—eyes and hair—height, though I tend to be a bit curvier." She said with a small grimace, briefly touching her hands to her hips. In reality she was a trim woman in her late fifties, but she seemed to be comparing herself to an unreasonable standard of thinness.

"She smoked...said it kept the weight off...but as a nurse I couldn't do it..." Sarah said with a regretful sigh.

"And she wasn't happy." Carol said before she could stop herself. Sarah raised an eyebrow at the younger woman, agreeing.

_"And she was not happy."_ Sarah nodded sadly. "The day I met Ellie I knew immediately who she was, you know."

"Daryl's mother?" Carol said, keeping her voice deliberately neutral. Sarah tilted her head to the side, studying Carol's bland expression for a few seconds and then went on.

"The boys didn't get along at first, so Travis arranged a play date and then dropped Rick off at the Dixon place before work—I was worried—one of my feelings—and then the three of them, Ellie and the boys, they walked into the ER. Rick had a broken wrist."

"He saved Daryl." Carol said, remembering the story.

* * *

_**1986, Senoia General Hospital**_

"I'm _fine_ now, mom!" eight year old Rick Grimes said, embarrassed at the way his mother was hovering over him while his new buddy watched. Daryl gave Mrs. Grimes a shy grin and she smiled back at the little boy with the big white bandage over his nose and the start of a black eye. He was a cute kid—scruffier and smaller than Rick—but there was something kid film plucky about him that was appealing.

"He's a _hero_, Mizz Grimes." Daryl said solemnly in his raspy voice and then put his hand on Rick's shoulder, making the other boy blush.

"Yes, and we can't ever thank him enough for what he did." Ellie said, smiling at both the boys, but then she frowned at her son. "Even though he wouldn't have had to if you hadn't been way out-of-bounds looking for your stupid Kublai Khan!"

"_Chupacabra,_ ma!" Daryl snorted in an aggrieved tone, rolling his eyes.

"Well, just be glad your father is out of town for the next week or you wouldn't be able to sit down for the next _month_." Ellie said warningly, but at the look of fear on Daryl's face she relented. "I think you had enough of a scare to keep something like this from happening again, right?"

Both Daryl and Rick nodded vigorously in agreement.

The two mothers retreated to the other side of the room while the boys recounted their true adventure story to the technician preparing the plaster cast materials.

"I'm so glad that they worked this out between them and I hope—I'm sorry—but your perfume—it seems so familiar?" Sarah said; something scritch-scratching distractingly at the back of her mind.

"Oh!" Ellie laughed, "That's me being sentimental—I've worn it forever…my…my first love gave it to me for Valentine's Day years ago. It's all I ever wear." She held her wrist out so Sarah could smell it, "It's called White Linen."

"You have an older son?" Sarah said, her heart beating more quickly as she looked down at Daryl and Rick. Daryl was gesturing in an animated way as he described the way Rick had grabbed his hand when he went over the cliff.

"That's right, _Merle_. He's in the service now." Ellie said, "He's twelve years older than Daryl and has always been a bit of a handful. I hope this will help to straighten him out."

"Travis, my husband—he..." she looked down at the boys again, knowing they didn't need to hear anything about the brother's troubles.

"Yes, he helped us get Merle in. I can't thank him enough for that either." Ellie said gratefully.

"But that wasn't the first time he helped you with Merle, was it?" Sarah said, staring at Daryl, seeing that the two boys both had blue eyes, despite the fact that both of their mother's eyes were green. That they held their heads at the same angle as they sat on the exam table side by side listening to the tech explain the casting process.

"I'm sorry?" Ellie asked, puzzled, following the line of Sarah's gaze.

"About eight or nine years ago...he had a similar problem and Travis took the call?" Sarah said carefully.

Ellie froze, and Sarah could see that she was unsure of how to respond to the question. Wondering if there might still be a record of the call, or if perhaps Travis had even told his wife the bare bones of the incident to explain his absence that night? Motioning for Sarah to follow, Ellie pushed the door to the room open and went through so they were standing in the relative privacy of the hall.

"Yes." Ellie said, raising her eyes to meet Sarah's unflinchingly.

"How long have you known my husband, Mrs. Dixon?" Sarah asked softly and Ellie closed her eyes. When she opened them again they were brimming with tears.

"It's not what you think." Ellie said, the tears spilling over to run down her face.

"And what do I think?" Sarah said, her eyes misting over. "That you're in an unhappy marriage? That your husband hurts you and your boys? That you stay with him because the man you really love is married to someone else?"

"Please—don't..." Ellie leaned against the wall, her hand to her stomach.

"Is my husband father to_ both_ of your sons?" Sarah whispered fiercely, "Or just the one conceived the night he came home eight years ago wearing White Linen?"

"We didn't—when I knew him twenty years ago we didn't. _Tom_ is Merle's father." Ellie said in a quiet but adamant voice.

"And _Daryl_?" Sarah asked.

"It was only that one time. We knew it was wrong—I'm _so_ sorry—but I can't regret it completely because it gave me my son. Please, you have to know, until all this with the boys I hadn't seen him since that night." Ellie said, "I stayed away. _He loves you_. He went_ home_ to _you_."

"But you had your piece of him to hold onto." Sarah said, feeling numb, as if cold water was pulling her under, the current threatening to drown her where she stood.

"Travis _doesn't _know—and I want it to stay that way." Ellie said fiercely, "Daryl is _my _son—not Tom's _or _Travis'. Tom has Merle and Travis has Rick—they don't _need _Daryl—_I do...he's all I have, Sarah." _Ellie put her hand over her mouth, terrified at having said that aloud, as if she was tempting the gods to take her little boy away from her.

Sarah saw the pure fear in the other woman's eyes and even knowing she should hate her for what she had just confessed she understood the depth of her love for her son and the reason for her terror.

"Your husband..." Sarah asked. "He's a violent man?"

"If Tom ever found out he'd kill me...he'd go after Travis...even Daryl..." Ellie confirmed.

"He'd hurt an innocent little boy?" Sarah asked, horrified, "Why don't you just leave him?"

"And go where? Any where I go he'll find me. I'm his _wife_." Ellie said with resignation, "In his mind that means he owns me."

"I can help you." Sarah found herself saying.

"What?" Ellie asked, taken aback.

"It'll take some time and a lot of planning..." Sarah said coming to stand beside Ellie and leaning on the wall next to her, continuing to speak more quietly. "I have a friend, from nursing school. She's part of a network that helps abused women escape from the men who are hurting them. Gives them new identities, new homes."

"You'd do that? Why? After what I just told you? You should _hate_ me..." Ellie asked, shaking her head in dismay.

"I should." Sarah agreed. "But you had eight years to show up on my doorstep to take my husband away and you didn't. And now somehow despite everything our sons _found_ each other—_Rick saved his brother's life today_. If he hadn't been with him, Daryl could've died without his father or his brother ever really knowing him." Sarah sighed, taking Ellie's hand in hers, "That sweet little boy would be gone." she squeezed the other woman's hand, "We're family now, Ellie. You don't have to be alone anymore."

* * *

_**2013, **__****__**present day, **_Greene Farm

"I promised her I would never tell Travis the truth." Sarah told Carol who sat with her mouth open, finding it hard to believe the story she'd just been told. How could anyone be so understanding about her husband's infidelity? Especially one that resulted in a child?

"How could you forgive her? Become _friends_ with her after what she did?" Carol asked.

"The dream I had that night...I realized it wasn't _me_ in the water. I was the one who pulled the baby_ out_ of the river...My dream put me in _Ellie's_ place so I would understand her, how she believed she would lose Daryl if Tom ever found out. Then after she was gone I had to be there to watch over Daryl...I did my best...I loved that little boy...but I couldn't keep him safe from all the suffering because I couldn't tell him who his father really was."

"But you left him there! With that man! You had to have known he was abusing him! How could you do that?" Carol cried, furious with her for Daryl's sake.

"Because I _promised_ Ellie I wouldn't tell Travis the truth. Even if I thought it was necessary to break that promise I had my own husband and son to worry about—if Tom Dixon knew the truth he would've come after Travis! He could've hurt Daryl and Rick!" Sarah said, weeping now. "It was selfish, I know…I …I did my best to make it up to him…to _Daryl_…make him part of our family…"

"But always from the _outside_ looking in—he never really felt like he belonged—when he had just as much right to his father as Rick did!" Carol said angrily. "And he grew up afraid he'd be like Tom."

"_He's not_!" Sarah exclaimed heatedly._ "_He's kind and gentle—you've seen that." And then her eyes narrowed as she looked at Carol, "He was always taking in strays, wounded things. He was a caring boy and now he's a caring man."

"Why are you telling _me_ all of this now?" Carol asked and both women's demeanor changed to one of suspicion.

"Because I think you saw the kind of man Ellie's little boy has become." Sarah said coldly, "And you saw how to use that to your advantage."

Carol stiffened, knowing she was being accused of_ using_ Daryl and not liking it one bit.

"I did not go looking for _any _of this." Carol said slowly and distinctly. "We met by chance—it could've been Merle or any one of the SPS plumbers who took that call—I had no idea who Daryl was and I never thought I'd see him again after that."

"What _did_ you think when you met him then?" Sarah asked, narrowing her eyes assessingly.

"I...I thought he was…nice." Carol said lamely as she blushed, the words _'hot plumber'_ flashing like a neon sign in her brain.

"Nice? That's all?" Sarah fished.

"He was very polite…and easy to talk to." Carol said evenly. "We had coffee and talked."

"Daryl? From what I've seen he has a very _professional_ demeanor at work; I wouldn't say he's ever _chatty_. You must have really intrigued him somehow…" Sarah mused archly.

"Are you asking if I answered the door wrapped in cellophane?" Carol sniped back. "I can assure you that my yoga pants and twenty year old pullover sweater covered all the important bits and if he got turned on by my broken nose and two black eyes then I may just have to re-examine our relationship!"

_"What?"_ Sarah asked, sounding a bit shocked, and then as a test she feigned ignorance of what she'd been told about Carol's husband's assault on her, "Were you in an accident?"

Carol sat back, unsure why she'd shared that detail; probably because she didn't like being accused of seducing the workmen who came into her home. She'd had enough of that crap from Ed over the years.

"If you can call my husband's fist repeatedly slamming into my face an accident." Carol said icily.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Peletier." Sarah said automatically, "I'm sorry your husband hurt you, but as I said, Daryl has always taken in strays, wounded things. That hasn't changed in all the time I've known him. You wouldn't be the first woman to snare a protector."

"And you think that's the _only_ reason he's with me? Because he feels sorry for me? Or are you suspicious that I'm just using _him_ as some sort of unpaid private bodyguard?" Carol demanded tightly, highly insulted.

"Just what _is_ your relationship then? Are you even _attracted_ to him, Carol? You've said nothing about his looks so it sounds to me like—"

Carol burst out laughing, interrupting Sarah who raised an eyebrow at her.

"Daryl Dixon is the most beautiful man I have ever met, inside and out." Carol said with a small satisfied smile. "I've never felt this way about a man before, Mrs. Grimes. I don't understand it and maybe part of what you say is true, and we recognized something in each other—damaged people gravitate to other damaged people—but whatever it is between us… it _works_. It _fits_ and I've stopped trying to fight it."

"You love him." Sarah said.

"I do." Carol said quietly, nodding.

"And he's told you he loves you?" Sarah asked, leaning forward.

"He actually said it first." Carol said, her cheeks pinkening as she remembering how amazed she had been to hear him say the words so easily.

Sarah looked at the small resolute woman in front of her and sighed. Whether she liked it or not, it seemed that just as Rick and Lori had told them, Carol was very important to Daryl and she cared for him as well.

"Then I need your help." Sarah requested.

"_My_ help?" Carol asked, unsure of what she could do for the woman sitting across from her who had been an important part of Daryl's life for decades.

"I think that somehow Daryl knows the truth about his mother and Travis." Sarah said, looking closely at Carol for any hint that she was right, "It's the only reason I can think of that he would act this way towards his father."

Carol huffed out a little sigh, wondering how much she should tell Sarah, who could be a suspect in Ellie's death. Jealousy was a ready motive despite her claims to have forgiven the woman who'd borne her husband a child.

"What happened the night she died?" Carol asked, "Do you know?"

"Ellie had decided to go. We'd been planning it all summer. My friend had arranged for everything, but at the last minute she decided she couldn't take Daryl away from Rick and Travis. She had tests done proving that Tom had no right to Daryl and she told me she wanted us to adopt him, but the paperwork all disappeared—it must've been lost in the fire. Tom had already refused to sign any sort of will granting us custody if something happened to him or Ellie."

"Do you think it was an accident?" Carol asked. "The fire?"

"There was an investigation—but they couldn't tell much—it...she...it was all just ashes when the fire burned out." Sarah said. She remembered how frustrated Travis had been when the Fire Marshal's report came in as inconclusive. Possible accelerant, but it could've been any alcohol based substance, from liquor to lighting fluid to perfume. Cigarettes probably the starter, but whether Ellie had been the one smoking them couldn't be determined.

"If Tom found out she was trying to go..." Carol wondered, knowing what Ed had been capable of and realizing that Tom Dixon was cut from the same cloth. He was someone else who had a good motive for murder.

"Something's wrong…" Sarah said suddenly and then a commotion outside the tent had both women looking to the doorway. The cloth flap snapped open and a harried and frightened looking Beth Greene rushed into the tent.

_"Out! Now!"_ Beth said in an anxious voice, "Daddy sent me-you need to get back in the shelter right _now, _Carol!"

"What is it?" Carol asked as both women stood. Beth grabbed Carol's arm and pulled her outside where Daryl was just opening the hatch door; a concerned Travis looking over his shoulder.

"It's _Phillip Blake_!" Beth said, pushing Carol forward. "He's here at the Clinic!"

* * *

_Sarah's dream section is a parallel to the story of Moses from the book of Exodus in the Bible. Moses' mother tries to save him from the pharaoh's decree by putting him in the Nile in a basket and then having her daughter follow along to make sure he is rescued. In my story I have it be the mother who follows to tie it in to Ellie and Sarah. The fine cloth in which the pharaoh's sister wraps Moses is white linen, which foreshadows the name of the perfume that Ellie wears._

_Daryl as Moses? Using the filmed version of Moses' life, __The Ten Commandments,__ I see a few parallels: his mother tried to give him up so that the Grimes could raise him. His half-brothers are both a pain in the ass (though he later bonds with them). He doesn't find out until he's grown up what his true parentage is; (something revealed by the scrap of homespun cloth that Moses was found with which he matches to a robe his real mother is weaving). He's a good man who meets the woman he loves while helping her with a problem having to do with water. (In the film it's at a well where Moses chases off a group of men who are threatening a woman trying to water her animals)._

_Next time, why is Blake at the Vet Clinic?_


End file.
